


The Heir to Nothing

by nachocheese26



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canon Divergence, Character Death, Eventual Romance, F/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pregnancy, Sansa and Varys become best buds, Slow Burn, because we always need more pregnancy sanrion fics, but this one is different, medical experiment, the friendship I never knew I needed tbh, what if
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-31
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2020-04-05 16:57:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 46,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19044574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nachocheese26/pseuds/nachocheese26
Summary: Faintly, she could hear someone hissing her name.“Lady Sansa! Lady Sansa, come with me now!”She glanced behind and saw Ser Dontos standing where she had stood a few moments ago.Cersei’s cries grabbed her attention though, and she watched as Joffrey’s body twitched for air. She looked again for Ser Dontos, but he was gone.***Sansa never makes it out of King's Landing after Joffrey's murder. And Tyrion will say anything to make sure she does not have to endure the trial.





	1. Prologue

Today could not get any worse. All attention was on Joffrey. Of course it was. It was his wedding feast. And the attention fueled him. When he received this much attention, it always drove him to humiliate someone. His two favorite targets being Sansa or Tyrion.

Today, it was Tyrion. And Sansa sat by his side quietly, wishing Tyrion would say something.

Sansa would always take Joffrey’s abuse silently. She thought it best to not give him a reaction or to only respond with ‘yes, Your Grace,’ or ‘you’re right, Your Grace.’ Tyrion had a different approach to dealing with Joffrey’s abuse. He countered every attack from Joffrey with words containing hidden meanings and veiled threats.

But something had happened and Tyrion was hardly countering Joffrey’s abuse. Instead, he kept his jaw clenched and stared with a resolve Sansa had never seen before. No, something had upset him prior to the wedding and she was sure it did not involve Joffrey. And the lack of response was infuriating the king.

It wasn’t until Joffrey directly asked him something that he finally spoke. And his words were biting if you understood the context. Sansa could feel hatred radiating off of Joffrey, growing with every sound of suppressed laughter coming from the crowd.

Perhaps he should've kept his mouth shut.

It came to the point that Sansa feared for his safety after the celebration. Especially after he refused to kneel at Joffrey’s command.

Thank the gods for Margery, diffusing the situation with her announcement about the pie.

“Can we leave now?” she asked after Tyrion had joined her side again.

“Let’s find out,” Tyrion said, already standing and allowing her to walk a few paces ahead of him to step out of sight faster.

But Joffrey stopped them and Sansa wanted to cry out for him to leave them be. Hadn’t they already suffered enough torment today?

Yet he still insisted Tyrion serve him his wine.

Tyrion looked back at Sansa with hollow eyes, but before he could turn away, she stepped forward to stand beside him. That they were together in this, being victims of Joffrey’s torment.

Maybe it would grant him some of his dignity back.

He gave her a grateful smile with a flicker of renewed energy in his eyes. He turned back, handed Joffrey his wine, then went towards Sansa, who had moved closer and held out an extended hand for him.

Tyrion took her hand, rubbing a calloused thumb along the back of it. He turned slightly to face Joffrey. “If it please Your Grace, Lady Sansa is very tired,” he said, giving her hand a light squeeze.

Joffrey refused.

And then something strange happened.

The king coughed. And his coughing continued until it turned into gagging.

Tyrion let go of Sansa’s hand and took a step forward. “Your Grace?”

Things happened quickly after that.

Margery yelled that he was choking and Cersei leapt from her chair to grab her son. Sansa stepped forward again, her heart thudding in her chest as Joffrey collapsed.

Was this actually happening?

Sansa made eye contact with Tyrion and both of their eyes landed on Joffrey’s discarded goblet. She bent down and grabbed it, handing it to Tyrion for the second time that hour.

Faintly, she could hear someone hissing her name.

“Lady Sansa! Lady Sansa, come with me now!”

She glanced behind and saw Ser Dontos standing where she had stood a few moments ago.

Cersei’s cries grabbed her attention though, and she watched as Joffrey’s body twitched for air. She looked again for Ser Dontos, but he was gone.

She moved closer to Tyrion, placing a hand on his shoulder as she tried to comprehend what she was seeing.

Joffrey was dying.

And with one final twitch, Joffrey’s hand extended towards Tyrion and Sansa.

Then he was still.

Cersei wept over his body, rocking him as if that would bring him back. But Joffrey was gone and Sansa felt a weight lift from her shoulders.

Their tormentor was finally gone.

But as that weight lifted from her shoulder, a new one replaced it.

Cersei turned to look at them. “He did this,” she snarled, staring at Tyrion. “He poisoned my son, your king. They both did this,”

Sansa’s grip on Tyrion’s shoulder tightened. No, she had no part of this! And she was sure Tyrion was just as innocent as she.

“Take them. Take them!” Cersei screamed

Tyrion moved, pushing Sansa to stand behind him, but several guards came and separated them. Sansa didn’t fight. She looked to Tyrion with fear in her eyes, praying that maybe this wasn’t actually happening. That they were not facing accusation for the death of King Joffrey.

Except his eyes held nothing but dread.

Her gaze was forced away as the guards holding her marched her forward.


	2. The Lie

Several days passed. Tyrion knew this only because he was keeping track of how many times he saw the run rise. Several days to think and think and think and-

He was driving himself insane.

Podrick had come to see him almost as soon as they threw him into the cell, bringing him food and a parchment and quill. Seven blessings on him, Tyrion could not believe the goodness in Podrick.

His first question had been about Sansa.

"I'm sorry, my Lord, I don't know anything except that she's down here somewhere too,"

Tyrion grabbed the parchment and quill. "Once you leave here, I need you to deliver a message to her. You'll have to be careful though. They'll be watching you,"

Pod asked Tyrion for a list of people who could stand witness on his behalf. The list was short and for every person, Podrick said they were unable to for one reason or another.

And he very well couldn't ask for Sansa to stand. She was on trial herself.

As Pod continued speaking, Tyrion realized his squire was in danger. And he would not have someone else face death because of their alliance with him.

"Take this to Sansa," Tyrion said, handing the rolled parchment to Pod, "And get out of King's Landing,"

Of course, the young man argued. Until Tyrion said it was an order.

After Podrick left, several days passed before anyone else came to Tyrion's cell. Leaving him to think of all the ways this situation could be worse.

He could’ve lost his head on the spot.

The entire outside wall of his cell could be missing like the sky cells of the Vale.

Lady Sansa could’ve fled, making him seem more culpable in the poisoning of Joffrey.

He closed his eyes. He wondered how Sansa was faring. If she was eating enough. If perhaps they had mercy and given her a cot to sleep on instead of the damp ground. If she believed the words he said in his message to her.

Tyrion didn't care to dwell too much on his wife. Because she had just become another name on the list of people hurt because of their relationship with him.

But he couldn’t think of anything else to add to his short list of how things could be worse. Before he could fall into any kind of real despair at this discovery, the door to his cell opened.

Jaime walked in. “Hello brother,”

Tyrion couldn’t help his smile. He added something else to his list.

Jaime choosing not to visit him at all.

“To tell you the truth, this isn’t so bad,” Jaime said after a few moments of taking in the dank cell, sliding down one the posts in the cell to sit on the ground. “Four walls. A pot to piss in. I was chained to a wooden post, covered in my own shit for months,”

Tyrion turned to look at him, hating the sound of the chains around his ankles clinking with his every movement. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“Maybe a bit,” Jaime regarded Tyrion for a breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,”

“It’s complicated, yes,” Tyrion allowed space for Jaime’s excuse. “So how is our sister?”

“How do you think? Her son died in her arms,”

“ _Her_ son?”

Tyrion feared he might have pushed too far at the look Jaime gave him. “Don’t,” Jaime took a deep breath. “You know what’s coming?”

“Mine and Lady Sansa’s trial for regicide. Yes, I know. I know the whole bloody country thinks we’re guilty. I know that one of the three judges has wished me dead more times than I can count. And that judge is my father. As for Cersei, well, she’s probably working on a way to avoid a trial altogether by having me killed. Leaving Sansa all alone to face the trial meant for us both,”

“Now that you mention it, she did ask,” Jaime said with the slightest hint of a tease.

“So, should I turn around and close my eyes?” Tyrion countered.

“Depends,” Jaime paused. “Did you and Lady Sansa do it?”

Tyrion scoffed. “The Kingslayer brothers. You like it? I like it,” Tryion regarded Jaime for a beat. “You’re really asking if I killed your son? If Sansa killed him?”

“Are you really asking if I’d kill my brother?”

Tyrion pursed his lips and looked down. No, of course Jaime didn’t believe the accusations.

“How can I help you?” Jaime asked.

“Sansa. Please watch out for her. Make sure she receives the best possible treatment under the present circumstances,”

Jaime nodded. “I’ve already done that,”

Tyrion let out a breath. “Well, you could also set us free,”

“You know I can’t,”

"Not even Sansa?"

"Not even her,"

Tyrion looked away. “Then there’s really nothing else to say,” he said with a clap and stood to his feet.

“What do you want me to do? Kill the guards? Sneak you out of the city in the back of a cart? I’m the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,”

“Sorry! I’d forgotten. I’d hate for you to do something inappropriate,” Tyrion snapped out.

“Inappropriate?” Jaime’s voice rose a pitch. “You and your wife are accused of killing the king. Freeing either of you is treason,”

“Except I _didn’t_ do it, much less Sansa!” Tyrion hissed.

“Which is why we’re having a trial,”

Tyrion groaned, “A trial. If the killer threw himself before the Iron Throne, confessed to his crimes, and gave irrefutable evidence of his guilt, it wouldn’t matter to Cersei. She won’t rest until my head’s on a spike,” Tyrion scratched at his cheek, grimacing at the feel of the growing stubble. “And poor Sansa will end up suffering the same fate as the rest of her family,”

Jaime looked at Tyrion thoughtfully. “Are you sure about Sansa though? Maybe she did do this,”

Tyrion shook his head. “Sansa couldn’t have done this,”

“She had more reason than anyone in the Seven Kingdoms. Do you think it’s a coincidence she handed you his goblet after it was thrown to the ground?”

“Yes, a complete coincidence. She was showing me _kindness_ ,” he turned his back to Jaime. “Sansa’s not a killer,”

Jaime stood up. “Not yet, anyway,”

Tyrion turned to give him a look. “But she isn’t now,” he ground out.

* * *

Tyrion lost count of the days. But he knew his time in the cell would amount to a fortnight. That fortnight finally came to an end when a guard came in, dropping clothes and a stool at Tyrion’s feet. He ordered Tyrion to sit on the stool as the guard shaved him of the beard that had started to grow. A few times, he knicked Tyrion with the blade and he wondered if it was an accident.

Once freshly shaven, the guard ordered Tyrion to change before leaving the cell.

They were some of his old clothes. Tyrion noticed they fit looser and could only imagine how much weight he had lost after being on a diet of bread and water.

Tyrion knew that the clothes and the shave meant he was finally leaving his cell. Free or condemned, Tryion didn’t know.

Jaime and a few other guards came to his cell moments later, his brother wearing a grim face as he opened the door.

“Let me guess. I’ve been pardoned,” Tyrion said from his seat on the stool.

Jaime just gave a subtle shake of his head.

Tyrion stood and allowed the guards to shackle his hands. He thought it ridiculous though. He was a dwarf. What did they think he would do? Fight them off with his fists? “Really?” he said, looking straight at Jaime.

“Father’s orders,” Jaime replied softly.

“Well, we mustn’t disappoint Father,”

The halls were empty as Tyrion walked behind Jaime with two guards behind him. He knew there was nothing he could say that would save him from this trial. But perhaps there was still hope for Sansa. He could say that he did have a part in Joffrey’s death and that Sansa knew nothing of it. That she was innocent.

A small part of him wondered if Sansa would object if he made that declaration. She was his wife after all, but did she really care that much for him? Did she care enough for him that she would risk her life for his?

They walked into the throne room, Tyrion keeping his head down and ignoring the murmurs from the crowd.

Until someone yelled Kingslayer.

He faltered in his step as he turned to look for who yelled it. But there were so many unfriendly faces in the crowd, it could’ve been any of them.

He continued walking, staring straight ahead at the two stands.

One for the demon monkey and one for the traitor’s daughter.

He was placed in the stand and they chained his shackles to it. He gave one last look to Jaime, who could only spare him a sympathetic smile. His eyes landed on Tommen, the new king, and his father, the puppeteer. Tywin stood behind Tommen, staring at Tyrion with a cold gaze.

And while Tyrion always knew his father held no love for him and did not care one way or another if Tyrion lived, he could actually see in his eyes today that Tywin wanted him dead.

The doors to the Throne Room opened again. Tyrion turned and saw guards leading Sansa in, much like he had been. Her hands were shackled in front of her. She wore a simple dress and her hair was down, no braids, no ornaments. Nothing. She was paler than usual, making her bloodshot eyes stand out even more, and she looked thinner as well. Of course, she had been placed on the same diet as Tyrion. And going by the issues he had with making her eat before this whole ordeal, he doubted she even finished her small portions.

As the guards chained her shackles to her stand, Tyrion caught her gaze. There was no emotion in her eyes, as if she was dead on the inside and only waiting for her physical death.

He hated seeing her eyes like that and knew he had to do something. He could not let her stand trial for something she did not do.

Tommen stood and the crowd mirrored him. “I, Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of my Name, King of the Andals…”

Tyrion tuned Tommen out as he listed his titles. It pained him to see the young king look at him with such distaste. There had been a time his face lit up when he saw Tyrion and called him his favorite uncle. But now, Tyrion would receive no mercy from Tommen. Especially since Tommen wasn’t going to be the judge. Tywin was.

Tywin was even less inclined to show mercy towards his own son, Tyrion couldn’t imagine how it would fare for Sansa.

In that moment, Tyrion finally thought of something that could possibly save Sansa. It was likely his idea wouldn’t work, but at least it would buy Sansa some extra time. At least a day and maybe somehow an escape for her could be arranged. Because Tyrion could face this trial and perhaps Sansa could too. But life had not been kind to her since she left her home and Tyrion wanted to at least try to allow her one last kindness.

Tommen had left the Throne Room, leaving Tywin sitting on the Iron Throne. Tyrion hated how relaxed her appeared. “Tyrion of the House Lannister and Sansa of the House Stark, you both stand accused by the Queen Regent of regicide. Did you kill King Joffrey?” Tywin asked.

“Sansa can not stand trial,” Tyrion said instead of answering Tywin’s question.

Tywin narrowed his eyes. “She is being charged for a crime, alongside you. Of course she will stand trial. Now, did you-“

“Sansa is pregnant. She can not stand trial,”

Audible gasps echoed in the throne room and Tyrion tried to ignore the sharp look Sansa sent him, finally showing a hint of emotion in her eyes.

“I did my duty and now you have an heir to Casterly Rock,” Tyrion pressed forward. “Execute her and you will lose all chance at having an heir for that land,”

Tywin narrowed his eyes, looking back and forth between Sansa and Tyrion. “Why should I let the child live? He would be the son of traitors,”

“Because, I’ve told you multiple times, I am _innocent_. Sansa is _innocent_!”

“Lady Sansa, how far along are you?” Oberyn asked, interrupting the stare-down between Tywin and Tyrion.

Sansa glanced at Tyrion. He prayed she would go along with this. It was a stupid idea, but it could buy her a little more time hopefully.

“I only just realized it the morning of King Joffrey’s wedding,” Sansa finally answered. “I can not be more than two months,”

Tyrion tried not to let out a relieved sigh, giving her a subtle comforting smile when she looked at him.

“There has been no evidence you consummated your marriage,” Tywin said, taking control of the conversation again. “Meaning you both are lying or your Lady Wife Sansa is a whore,”

Soft murmuring rippled through the court and Tyrion clenched his fists. “Not every marriage has to be consummated in a bed, _Father_ ,”

Tyrion didn’t dare glance at Sansa now. He could only imagine how red her face, her eyes downcast and trying her best to become invisible.

Tywin tapped his fingers a few times before standing. “The court will adjourn for the day. Tomorrow at first light, Lady Sansa will be examined by Grand Maester Pycelle to determine the legitimacy of this claim. Afterwards, the trial will proceed.

Tywin stood and walked out, the rest of the council following him. The lords and ladies in the court erupted into excited chatter. Tyrion could catch some of their words.

“Whore,”

“Traitors,”

“Execute them both,”

One of the guards began unshackling Tyrion from the stand, roughly yanking on his hands.

Tyrion didn’t pay him any attention. He looked over at Sansa.

Jaime was the one taking her from her stand. He was whispering a few words to her and treating her gently. Tyrion would have to thank his brother later for the small mercy.

As Jaime helped Sansa down the steps, she finally made eye contact with him again.

Her face was blank, but he had recently come to learn to find her emotions hidden in her eyes. And she was panicked.

Tyrion wished he could reach out to her. Tell her it would be all right. They would figure something out. That he was her husband and swore to protect her until his dying breath.

No matter how close that day might seem now.

But she looked away before he could. And even if he did, they would twist his words to use against them in this court.

Maybe she knew already, everything he wanted to convey to her. Because as she walked out with Jaime leading her, she held her head high.

* * *

Tyrion was pacing. He had to have gone up and down the small cell a thousand times by now. 

But he had to move. It was helping him think and he had to think very hard right now.

He told everyone in the court Sansa was pregnant. That they had consummated their marriage. And now she was going to be examined to see if those claims were true. How could he ensure that they believed him? Because if they realized it was lie, things would end up much worse for Sansa than if he had not opened his mouth at all.

The door to the cell opened and Tyrion stopped his pacing. It was Jaime. “Sansa, is she all right?” were the first words out of his mouth.

Jaime’s mouth was pressed into a firm line. “She’s…fine, I suppose. Considering…”

Tyrion picked up his pacing again. This time bringing his hands up to tug at his hair, trying to think. 

“Is it true?”

Tyrion didn’t stop, but he did look over at Jaime.

Jaime let out a deep breath, picking up on Tyrion’s unvoiced answer. “Why did you make that claim?”

“Because I was trying to buy her time,” Tyrion hissed. “She is just as innocent as me and you _know_ this,”

“I’m not disputing that. But why? Tomorrow, when Pycelle examines her, he’ll immediately see none of it’s true. He’ll tell the court and that will seal her fate,”  
  
“Please, Jaime. You have to get her out. You know she had nothing to do with this. Neither of us did, but right now it’s more pressing for Sansa to escape than me,”

“And how would it look for you if she escaped tonight?” 

Tyrion swallowed hard. “I’ll accept whatever consequences are handed to me, so long as she’s safe,”

Jaime shook his head. “I can’t. It’s too soon. Something like this requires more planning,”

Tyrion lowered his hands and stopped. There was an idea he had been dreading to even give any real thought to. But he couldn’t think of anything else. “She has to get pregnant. Tonight,”

“So what, do you expect me to somehow sneak her in here so you can take her maidenhead and hopefully impregnate her?”

“No, well I…” Tyrion growled in frustration. “That’s one option or someone else does it,”

“I’m sure Sansa isn’t going to like either of those options,”

“What other option is there?” Tyrion asked, resisting the urge to grab his brother’s shoulders and shake him. “You can’t help her escape yet and Pycelle is examining her _tomorrow_ …what if we had Pycelle killed?”

Jaime scoffed.

“No one likes the old man anyways! Just a small drop of poison and-“

“I thought you said poison wasn’t your style?”

Tyrion pressed his back against the stone wall and slid down to the floor. “Then I’ve ruined any chances of survival for her, haven’t I?”

Jaime didn’t respond.

Tyrion closed his eyes. So much for doing his duty as a husband and protecting his wife.

“There might be another way,”

Tyrion looked at Jaime. “What?”

Jaime scratched his neck. “Maester Qyburn, I’ve glanced through a few of his notes. He believed he found a way to impregnate women without the actual act of consummation,”

“How is that even possible?” Tyrion asked with a frown.

“I don’t know. But he at least had a general idea,”

“Has he ever done it? Successfully?”

Jaime shook his head.

“No,” Tyrion said firmly. “I don’t trust that man and his methods. I will not allow Sansa to become one of his experiments,”

“What other choice do you have?”

Tryion pursed his lips. Seven hells, maybe he shouldn't have ever opened his mouth. “I have to speak with her,” he said softly. “This should be her decision more than mine,”

“I can’t bring her to you, but I’ll see what I can do,” Jaime said, turning for the door. Right before leaving, he paused. “It’ll be all right, little brother,”

And Tyrion wanted to believe him but knew how the world really worked for people like him and Sansa.


	3. The Procedure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your kind reviews and kudos!! I am having so much fun writing this story, that I've even got several chapters already written up! But I'm trying to keep to only posting on Fridays since in a couple of weeks I'm going to be extra busy and won't probably have time to write. But thankfully, I'll have those chapters already written and edited so I can just post them really quick! Anyways, hope you like this next chapter and leave your thoughts/kudos below!

Tyrion was drunk. There was no other explanation. He was drunk or perhaps someone had given him something that had made him delusional. She once heard of some find finding some kind of herb and putting it in their pipes. It made them see things and believe things that couldn’t be possible.

That’s what had to have happened with Tyrion. Because why else would he lie and tell everyone she was pregnant? The court, the council, _everyone_. She couldn’t believe that he would say something like that without anything influencing him.

But what was Sansa’s excuse? She went along with it. She affirmed Tyrion’s delusion.

Now she was complicit in a crime and she really could be found guilty. They would execute her. Just like her father, her mother, her brothers.

This would be the end of the Starks. At the hand of Lannisters.

As she clutched the note she received from Tyrion, delivered by Podrick, she wondered if she should also consider Tyrion a participant in her doom. An unwilling one, but a participant none the less.

_My dearest Sansa, please forgive me._

The parchment was filled with his words. Before this morning, Sansa had read the message thousands of times. It was a miracle her tears hadn’t fallen on it, making the ink run. The first few days, she hardly stopped crying. Reading his words over and over again, hoping it would make this situation seem a little more tolerable.

After maybe fifth day (or was it the fourth?), her tears ran out, but her eyes still read and reread his letter. She had read it so much that the words were now ingrained in her mind for the rest of her life.

What else could she do? Aside from Podrick, who said Tyrion ordered him to leave the city, no one came to see her. It wasn’t a surprise. Not many people showed loved to her there. But Lady Olena’s  lack of a visit did sting. She thought she might finally have found another ally in this woman.

Apparently not.

But now that she was back in her cell after her trial had been put on hold, Sansa couldn’t make it past the first few words in Tyrion’s letter.

_My dearest Sansa, please forgive me._

Was this his plan all along? To wait until the moment they stood before the judges and announce she was pregnant? What good would that do either of them? And how did he know that she would even go along with it?

Or what if there was something in his note? Something that maybe subconsciously brought her to say yes, to become a part of the lie.

But when she looked at the note again, she still did not make it past the first few words.

_My dearest Sansa, please forgive me._

Sansa pulled her knees up to her chest and buried her face in them. She balled the parchment in her fist and held it there.

She just wanted to go _home_.

Hours could’ve passed, but it also could’ve been just minutes. Time didn’t seem to exist in her cell. But at some point, Jaime came in. He asked her to stand, that she was being moved to a different cell for security reasons.

Sansa didn’t argue. Why should she argue? She stood up allowing Jaime to shackle her hands and walking behind him silently like a lamb to slaughter

For a fleeting moment, she thought that he was helping her escape. It was only Jaime that had come for her.

He was a Lannister though and he was a participant in her doom too.

Twice, Jaime turned to look at her, opening his mouth to say something. But then he looked forward again, without saying a word.

When they arrived at her new cell, Jaime unshackled her, then pointed to the far-right corner. “I’ve heard a nice breeze comes by through there,”

Sansa frowned, not understanding how the breeze could reach that corner when the window was on the opposite side.

But Jaime left before she could think to ask him what he was trying to say.

Sansa moved to sit in the corner Jaime told her about.

And she didn’t feel any kind of breeze, but she was already sitting and she couldn’t find the energy to get up and move closer to the window. What was the point?

She sniffled a little, trying to find a spot comfortable enough to close her eyes and maybe fall asleep.

But she didn’t close her eyes, pulling out Tyrion’s letter instead and looking at the words.

_My dearest Sansa, please forgive me._

“Sansa?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. No one was here with her. It was only her imagination.

“Sansa, are you there?”

It sounded like Tyrion’s voice. Muffled, but she still recognized him.

Except it couldn’t be real. Because in her other cell, she had heard her mother’s voice and her father and sometimes Arya, Robb, Bran, Rickon and even Jon.

Now she was hearing Tyrion’s voice.

There was a heavy sigh, but that could’ve been the breeze Jaime was talking about. “My dearest Sansa, please forgive me,”

She opened her eyes and stared at the letter. Had she imagined Tyrion’s voice saying those words? She pressed a hand to the wall. “Tyrion?” she whispered, unsure if anyone was on the other side of that wall.

She could make out a deep breath. “Thank the gods. Are you hurt?”

Tyrion was there. Just on the other side of the wall.

She took a steadying breath and pressed her forehead against the wall. “No, I…I’m fine,” She was alive still. That had to count for something.

“I am so sorry, my dear. This is…I know you had no part in what happened to Joffrey,”

Yes, he mentioned that several times in his letter. “And I know you didn’t do it either. You couldn’t have,”

Tyrion was silent and Sansa wondered if maybe she was wrong.

“This morning…what I said…”

She waited for him to continue. He didn’t.

“Why did you say that? They’ll kill me if they realize I’m not actually pregnant,” Sansa finally whispered. It wasn’t an accusation. She was just stating a fact. One that she knew and surely he knew it too.

“I…I wanted to buy you some time,”

“For what, Tyrion? I’m not pregnant. I’ll be examined tomorrow and they’ll see. Then they will kill me. Just like they killed my family,”

“No, Sansa,” Tyrion said forcefully. “I will not let that happen,”

And she heard his unspoken words. _I will not let another Stark die by Lannister hands._

“Sansa…there might be a way to protect you from that fate,”

She was weary of the conversation. Perhaps because she already accepted her fate. “What do I have to do?”

“I’m not sure, but Maester Qyburn might know of a way to impregnate-“

“ _No,_ ” Sansa said, trying her best not to recoil from the wall. “I’m not a whore. If I have to bear anyone’s child, then it has to be my husbands,” she hissed. Then immediately felt guilty and she wasn't quite sure why.

“It _will_ be my child,”

Sansa blinked. Tyrion wasn’t making any sense. “But…how?”

“I don’t completely understand, but he will take my seed and place it in you without us having to perform the actual act of consummating our marriage,”

Sansa bit her lip and closed her eyes. She didn’t want to do this. She didn’t trust Qyburn.

But she realized she wouldn’t be the only one punished for this lie. It was Tyrion who had spoken first after all. This would only give Tywin and Cersei more reason to put his head on a spike as well.

“I know this is not the ideal situation,” Tyrion said, interrupting her thoughts. “You should be somewhere beautiful and warm, a place that doesn’t smell like shit and away from anyone who would ever want to harm, with a tall and handsome knight beside you that you can call your husband. You do not deserve any of this,”

She could easily imagine the scene he described. And Tyrion was nowhere in that scene and she felt a small pang of guilt for it. “And what is it that you deserve, Lord Tyrion? Wouldn’t you say that you deserve a wife who would’ve consummated her marriage to you on that first night?”

A heavy sigh. “My lady, I do not want to think of what I deserve. All I know is that you are still my wife and it is my duty to protect you. Which is why I am leaving this decision to you,”

_What?_

“You get to decide whether or not Qyburn performs this procedure,”

She felt a tear rolling down her cheek, the wetness surprising a little. Her choices were both terrible, but Sansa realized this was the first time in a long while that she was allowed to make a decision for herself.

The last time had been on their wedding night, when Tyrion said he would not join her until she was ready.

And here Tyrion was, allowing her another choice of her own.

“I wish I could tell you to take the time you need to make a proper decision, but considering the circumstances, it would be better for you to decide right now,”

“But can Maester Qyburn be trusted? How do we know he won’t say anything to your father or Cersei?”

“Because while he’s loyal to the Lannister name, he also is fond of his experiments. Besides, if it works, another Lannister will be born. Something my father has wanted for a long time,”

Gods, what choice did she have? Sansa felt something stuck in her throat. She knew what had to be done. All for the sake of survival. “I’ll do it,” Sansa intended for her voice to come out strong and proud. But it was barely above a whisper and she wondered if Tyrion had heard her. She didn’t think she could repeat herself again.

Tyrion spoke again before she had to build up more courage to repeat her answer. “Maester Qyburn will be down momentarily,”

She nodded, even though Tyrion wouldn’t see her. And more tears somehow fell from her eyes.

She closed her eyes and imagined a child with the blue eyes of a Tully, dark hair like a Stark, and a strategic mind like a Lannister…no, like Tyrion’s. The child would grow up here in King’s Landing, become Lord  or Lady of Casterly Rock, and never know the North or their heritage.

And would never know the truth of their mother and father.

Because if this worked and she did become pregnant, how could they let her live for a crime they had already condemned her of? And Sansa couldn’t imagine escaping while pregnant. She had no allies here who could help her in the first place.

But she was thinking as if this plan with Qyburn would actually work.

She forced herself to think of something else. Arya laughing after Sansa realized she had sheep-shifted her bed, Robb and Jon teaching Bran how to properly hold a sword. Rickon gently tugging at her hair when he wanted her attention. Her father’s wide grin that was only bestowed on rare occasions. The smell of lemon lingering in the air everywhere her mother went.

The sound of keys jangling and the lock of her cell door opening brought Sansa out of her thoughts. She sat up and wiped away any lingering tears.

Jaime came in followed by Maester Qyburn.

Sansa swallowed hard. This was actually going to happen. She was actually going to allow them to do this to her. And if it worked, she would be pregnant.

In the back of her mind, she wondered what her parents would say if they knew of her situation.

“Be quick. I can only keep the patrolling guards busy for so long,” Jaime said before leaving her alone with Qyburn.

“Hello child,” Qyburn said as he stepped forward. He held a glass jar in one hand and with the other pulled out another jar and a strange tube from his satchel. “Has someone explained the procedure to you?”

Sansa shook her head.

“Well, of course not. No one really knows how this will work except for me. Do you want to know?”

She hesitated before shaking her head again.

Qyburn gave her a smile. “Very good,”

She did not like this man. “Will it work?” she asked instead.

“I don’t know. I’ve never actually tried this before. But don’t worry. Science never goes far without willing participants for the first trial,”

Was it too late to change her mind?

“I’ve brought you some milk of the poppy. For this procedure to have a chance of working, I need you as relaxed as possible,” he said, handing her one of the jars.

Sansa hated milk of the poppy. It always made her so dizzy when she woke up again. But she drank it without question.

“Good girl. Now, lie down on your back and try to get as comfortable as possible,”

She positioned herself in front of him, feeling her heart pounding hard, but then it was starting to calm. She rested her head on the hard ground, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Qyburn was speaking to her again, but his voice sounded distant. She thought maybe he was telling her to imagine her home and family.

Her eyes slipped closed, just as she felt him prop up her knees and spread her legs. The image was blurry, but she saw him pouring the contents of the other jar into the strange tube. But then she saw the image of her mother, waiting for her with arms opened wide. And Sansa felt herself floating away…

* * *

 

Before Qyburn came to his cell, Tyrion could hear Sansa’s soft sniffling. It was a sound he had grown accustomed to, especially after the death of her mother and brother. He would walk into their shared private chambers late at night and behind the door of her own private section of the chamber, he could hear her sniffling and muffled sobs.

He would never do anything to try and comfort her those nights. Because he was sure his presence would only exacerbate her grief.

And now, after Sansa came to her decision to allow Qyburn to perform this experimental procedure, he could hear those same sniffles.

Just like all the other times though, Tyrion did nothing. What was he supposed to do, stuck in the cell next to her?

Qyburn finally came in asking him to spill his seed into a jar and Tyrion pushed the sound of her sniffling to the darkest corner of his mind. He quickly got it over with as soon as Qyburn left him to his privacy. He couldn’t have any doubts or hesitation creep in, pulling up all his distorted fantasies. He tapped on the door when he was finished and handed the filled jar to Qyburn.

Tyrion wiped his hands on his pants and wished he could shower. He never felt dirtier before in his entire life.

He heard Sansa’s crying stop when Qyburn went into her cell. He could make out the soft murmuring of Qyburn’s instructions. He knew Qyburn was planning on giving her milk of the poppy. The procedure was uncomfortable, and he would have to break her maidenhead as well. She needed to be as relaxed as possible.

Tyrion just didn’t count on Sansa sleeping through the rest of the day and the night. He wanted to ask her how it went? Did she feel different? Was she okay?

But every time he whispered into the corner of his cell when she could hear him, he received no response.

Or maybe she was ignoring him, blaming her situation on him.

If he was in her position, he would do the same.

Somehow, he managed to fall asleep during the night. He dreamt of dire wolves and deformed lions and choked gasps coming from the creatures.

Heavy footsteps from the prison guards woke him up just after daybreak. He sat up, pressing his ear to the wall and hearing them demand Sansa wake up and stand to her feet. There was loud rustling and Tyrion knew they were handling her roughly. Where was Jaime? Why hadn’t he gone with them to ensure Sansa was treated gently? A clinking of chains followed by her cell door slamming and footsteps going down the hallway again.

And Tyrion could feel his palms become damp with sweat. He stood up and began pacing. If this didn’t work, he had basically given Sansa’s executioner his axe.

After what felt like hours, footsteps came down the hallway again. Her cell door was opened and closed, and the prison guards left without another word.

Tyrion quickly moved to the corner and slid down to the ground. “Sansa? Did it…what happened?” his mouth was dry as he waited for her response.

For a moment, Tyrion wondered if she was even there. She wasn’t making a sound.

But she finally said. “Grand Maester said it was still too early to properly determine. But he said my maidenhead was broken,”

Tyrion let out heavy breath. “I know this was a difficult-“

“Forgive me, Lord Tyrion, but I don’t wish to talk right now,”

“Of course, I…I’m right here, if you need anything,”

Sansa didn’t respond. And Tyrion could only think of how much she must hate him.


	4. The Trial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter full of Sansa's thoughts! I had fun writing this chapter and I hope you lovelies enjoy it too! Leave a comment and let me know what you think!

Sansa wasn’t allowed much time in her cell after her examination. Even when she complained of dizziness and a churning stomach. Effects she always suffered after drinking milk of the poppy, but they took it as a symptom and further confirmation of her pregnancy.

She wanted to pretend she was years younger, playing hide and seek with Arya and waiting for her sister to find her hiding in one of the cells at Winterfell. She wanted to pretend she had never heard of Joffrey or Cersei or the Lannister name.

She wanted to pretend she was strong.

But her cell door opened with two guards coming for her and she felt herself go numb, any lingering feeling of fight disappearing.

Sansa let them shackle her for the second time that day. They led her out, flanking either side of her as they walked her to the Throne Room.

She held her head high out of habit. Her parents always said there could never be anything in the world that would make them walk with their heads hung in shame.

It was Northern pride.

And it ran through her veins, whether it was pretend or not.

The doors to the Throne Room opened. The singular stand, either for her or Tyrion, commanded her attention.

It could very well be for her. Had Pycelle realized the pregnancy wasn’t true? That she had just undergone an experiment of Qyburn’s?

Still, Sansa walked with her head held high, ignoring the whispers of the crowd and how the room spun. She kept her gaze locked on Tywin, who regarded her through narrowed eyes, the man who would judge their fate and declare how guilty they were.

Was it defiance, bravery, or plain stupidity that drove her to keep her eyes on him?

Just as they were approaching the stand, the two guards turned her and led her to a chair, isolated from the crowd, the witnesses, and the judges.

But still in direct view of the court, where they could make an example of her. They would whisper to their children, don't be like Sansa Stark. Her father was a traitor. Her brother was a traitor. Her husband was a traitor. She was a traitor.

Don't be like Sansa Stark.

The two guards stood on each side and Sansa thought it a little ridiculous. Did they really think she would try an escape? She felt like she couldn't even stand up straight.

A few moments after she took her seat, the doors to the Throne Room opened again. Jaime and two guards marched Tyrion in.

Sansa noticed his eyes focusing on the stand to searching the rest of the room. His eyes didn’t stop roaming the room until he was being shackled to the stand and he saw her.

His shoulders seemed to relax just slightly before turning to face Tywin and the rest of the council.

“Grand Maester Pycelle has declared it too early to properly determine if the Lady Sansa is truly pregnant. However, there are signs that heavily indicate she is,” Tywin spoke. Sansa closed her eyes. They believed it. At least the procedure had worked that much. Now only time would tell if she was actually pregnant.

At the thought, Sansa felt bile rising in her throat. Another effect from the milk of the poppy or the thought of carrying a Lannister her in her womb, even if it that Lannister was Tyrion?

“After she has given birth or the lie of her pregnancy has been made clear, she will be tried for the crimes she is accused of and punished accordingly."

Sansa wasn’t going to die. At least not yet.

“Tyrion Lannister, however, your trial will proceed today. Now, did you kill King Joffrey?”

“No,” Tyrion said, shaking his head and looking down.

“How would you say he died, then?”

“Choked on his pigeon pie,” Tyrion answered.

“So you would blame the bakers?”

“Or the pigeons. Just leave me and my wife out of it."

Sansa pursed her lips and shifted in her seat. Had Tyrion learned nothing? That his witty remarks would get him nowhere?

“The crown may call its first witness,” Tywin said, speaking over the whispering crowd. He settled into a more comfortable position on the throne.

Ser Meryn came to the witness stand and began his fanciful tales of the times Tyrion threatened Joffrey.

Sansa felt it was her duty to listen to every word. Her husband was on trial. But she fell into the habit of tuning everything out, her light-headed state making it even easier.

“Once we’d got King Joffrey safely away from the mob, the Imp rounded on him. He slapped the king across the face and called him a vicious idiot and a fool,”

That statement pulled her out of her daze. Sansa remembered that day Ser Meryn was referring to. She had become separated from everyone. And those men chased her. Their hands were grabbing her and bruising her and-

She took a deep breath and clenched her fists. She could not let her mind wander down dangerous paths.

Her movement caught the attention of one the guards by her. He looked down at her with a raised eyebrow, but Sansa didn't move again. He looked back up, impassive face as the trial went on.

Ser Meryn continued. “It wasn’t the first time the Imp threatened Joffrey. Right here in this throne room, he marched up those steps and called our king a halfwit. Compared His Grace to the Mad King and suggested he’d meet the same fate. And when I spoke in the king’s defense, he threatened to have me killed,”

That was another terrible day. It took weeks for the bruises Ser Meryn left on her to fade. And Joffrey, watching with a grin and the rest of the court doing nothing. Many of those people who were there that day were here too. None of them said anything.

And yes, Tyrion did those things Ser Meryn said, but it was because he was _protecting_ her. Sansa wanted to stand and yell it for the court to hear. Joffrey was the monster.

Not Tyrion.

But she took a deep breath and did not move, praying the world around her would stop spinning.

“Oh, why don’t you tell them what Joffrey was doing?” Tyrion interrupted Ser Meryn.

“Silence,” Tywin ground out.

“Pointing a loaded crossbow at Sansa Stark while you tore at her clothes and beat her."

“Silence!” Tywin yelled.

Sansa could see the muscles jumping in Tyrion’s jaw as he clenched it shut.

“You will not speak unless called upon,” Tywin said with a glare. “You’re dismissed, Ser Meryn."

Grand Maester Pycelle came to the stand next. And he began listing poison after poison and claiming Tyrion stole them from his store.

Then he pulled something from his sleeve and Sansa held back a gasp.

It was her necklace. The one Dontos Hollard gave to her. It had been taken from her along with all her other finery she wore that day. “This is the necklace Sansa Stark wore at the wedding, Residue of a most rare and terrible poison was found inside,”

No. That was impossible. It had only been a gift from Dontos.

“Was this one of the poisons stolen from your store?” asked Tywin.

“It was. The Strangler. A poison few in the Seven Kingdoms possess. And used to strike down the most noble child the gods ever put on this good earth.”

Again, Sansa wanted to stand and say it was all a lie. She had nothing to do with the death of Joffrey. She had no idea that necklace had any poison in it. _It had only been a gift._ But she stayed still, willing Tyrion to look at her. Because maybe if he did, she could somehow convey to him that she didn’t know about the necklace. That she really did not have any part in the death of Joffrey.

He never did. He kept his head down and Sansa could tell there was a simmering anger in him. But also a sadness.

A sadness she didn’t understand.

Cersei gave her testimony against Tyrion as well as Lord Varys.

“Father, may I ask the witness one question?” Tyrion asked just as Lord Varys had been dismissed.

“One.”

Sansa held her breath, praying Tyrion would choose his words wisely.

“You once said that without me, this city would have faced certain defeat. You said the histories would never mention me, but you would not forget. Have you forgotten, Lord Varys?”

“Sadly, my lord, I never forget a thing.” With a bow, Lord Varys walked away to take his seat among the crowd.

Tyrion’s eyes followed Lord Varys. And his eyes finally moved towards Sansa. He looked at her for just a moment and gave her a sad smile before looking down at his hands again.

“We will adjourn for now. Toll the bells in an hour’s time,” Tywin said as he and the council stood.

The room emptied out. Except for Tyrion, Sansa, and the two guards standing beside Sansa.

Sansa shifted in her chair, wondering if she could get up and go to Tyrion.

But what would she tell him? Or did she expect him to say something to her? Did she expect him to offer her some kind of comfort?

If anything, she should be the one to say something comforting to him. He was the one on trial right now, not her. He was the one that came up with the idea of the pregnancy. He was the one that organized for her to go through that procedure with Qyburn to allow her some time before her own trial.

Yet, Sansa did not open her mouth, only glancing up occasionally to look at him. And the entire time, he kept his head down, staring at his shackled hands and lost in his own thoughts.

But even if she decide to go to him, she didn't think she physically could. The room never stopped spinning and every now and then her stomach would churn painfully.

It felt like ages before the Throne Room filled up again.

When it did, Sansa watched as Jaime came in and walked directly towards Tyrion. They shared a few words, Jaime speaking more. Then Tyrion turned to look at her. He pursed his lips and seemed to be considering something.

Tywin walked in and the court stood. Tyrion and Jaime exchanged a few more words before the latter left Tyrion, moving back towards his place in the room.

“The crown may call its next witness.” Tywin’s voice boomed through the room.

The doors opened. Shae walked in. _Shae!_ Her handmaiden. She hadn't seen her since before Joffrey's wedding.

Sansa held back a smile. She trusted Shae. Her handmaiden was one of the few people she actually trusted in King’s Landing. This woman would finally give an honest account and maybe absolve her and Tyrion of the guilt that had been placed on them. Or at least make the council question the validity of everyone else’s testimony.

But Sansa noticed Tyrion had stood up and a look of shock and dread was on his face. Her stomach dipped oddly. Why was he looking at Shae like that? She would tell the truth.

Right?

Tywin spoke. “State your name.”

“Shae.”

“Do you swear by all the gods that your testimony will be true and honest?”

“I swear it.”

“Do you know this man?”

“Yes.” Shae answered after turning to look at Tyrion. “Tyrion Lannister.”

“And how do you know him?”

“I was handmaiden to his wife, Lady Sansa.”

“This man stands accused of murdering King Joffrey and his wife will stand trial after she has given birth for the same crime.” Tywin said. “What do you know of this?”

It suddenly occurred to Sansa that out of all the people who had given testimony, Shae would be the only one to state the validity of Sansa’s pregnancy. There was no telling if Qyburn’s procedure had worked yet, but Shae could still tell the court their marriage had not officially been consummated.

But Shae wouldn’t. Because Sansa _trusted_ her. It couldn't be possible that Sansa had trusted the wrong person _again._

“I know that they are guilty,” Shae said. “He and Sansa planned it together.”

Sansa bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out. She wouldn’t have been heard though over the cries from the crowd.

Tywin silenced the crowd and asked Shae to continue just as Tyrion slowly sunk down to his seat again.

“She wanted revenge for her father, her mother, her brother. She blamed their deaths on the king. Tyrion was happy to help."

Sansa squeezed her eyes shut, praying this was just a dream. That Shae, one of the few people she trusted in King’s Landing, was not standing as a witness and accusing her and Tyrion of murdering Joffrey.

Shae continued with her testimony though. “He hated Joffrey. He hated the queen. He hated you, my lord. He stole poison from the Grand Maester’s chamber to put in Joffrey’s wine.”

“How could you possibly know all this?” Oberyn asked. “Why would he reveal such plans to his wife’s maid?”

“I wasn’t just her maid.” Shae paused. And Sansa opened her eyes to look at her. Not once did Shae look at her or Tyrion. “I was his whore.”

Sansa’s eyes darted to Tyrion while the crowd gasped and Lord Mace asked if it was true. She knew it was from the way Tyrion was looking at Shae. His eyes holding the same betrayal that Sansa felt.

If anything, the betrayal looked like it ran deeper for him. And the sadness she noted earlier had increased tenfold.

“How did you come to be in his service?” Lord Mace asked.

Shae told them how Tyrion had forced her. And Sansa immediately knew it was a lie. Perhaps there was some truth mixed in because the betrayal on Tyrion’s face looked like it was causing him physical pain. But the majority of her words had to be a lie.

The way Shae said Tyrion treated her and demanded things of her. That was not Tyrion. He would never force someone to share his bed.

Sansa knew from experience.

She also knew just by watching Tyrion listen to Shae that he cared for her. Deeply. Sansa wondered if maybe she had been more than just a whore to Tyrion.

“Shae.” Tyrion's sounded broken, nothing like Sansa had ever heard before. “Please don’t,” he pleaded.

“I am a whore. Remember?” Shae glanced back at him before continuing. “That was before he married Sansa. After that, all he wanted was her. But she wouldn’t let him into her bed. So he promised to kill King Joffrey for her,”

Again, Sansa was filled with the urge to stand and say that was all a lie. Shae might have been Tyrion’s whore at one point, but he could never have forced himself on Shae. And Tyrion never promised Sansa he would kill Joffrey.

But there was something Shae had said that was true. That Sansa never let Tyrion into her bed.

Tywin picked up that statement.

“You say that the Lady Sansa never shared her bed with Tyrion. Yet, they have both made the claim that she is pregnant with Tyrion’s heir. The Grand Maester said Lady Sansa’s maidenhead was broken however. Did the Lady Sansa have an affair with someone else then?”

Tyrion looked at Shae with panicked eyes. But Shae didn’t look at him. Instead, she looked at Sansa for the first time since entering the Throne Room.

For a beat, Sansa could see regret in Shae’s eyes. But then Shae looked away and back to Tywin. “No. Lady Sansa shared her bed with Tyrion after he made her that promise."

Relief crept into Sansa’s veins. But that did not make up for the other lies Shae had said. Her words still made her and Tyrion guilty of Joffrey’s murder.

“Father, I wish to confess.” Tyrion spoke up. “I wish…to confess,”

Sansa looked at him. Had this been it? Had Shae’s lies finally pushed him to confess to a crime he didn’t commit?

“You wish to confess?” Tywin asked.

Tyrion turned to the crowd instead of the council. “I saved you. I saved this city and all your worthless lives. I should have let Stannis kill you all,” he said as he rose from his seat.

Sansa took a deep breath. What was he doing?

Tywin spoke over the clamoring crowd. “Tyrion, do you wish to confess?”

“Yes, Father. I’m guilty,” Tyrion said, facing the council now. “Guilty. Is that what you want to hear?”

“You admit you poisoned the king?”

“No, of that I’m innocent. I’m guilty of a far more monstrous crime. I am guilty of being a dwarf.”

“You are not on trial for being a dwarf.”

“Oh, yes, I am. I’ve been on trial for that my entire life.”

“Have you nothing to say in your defense?”

“Nothing but this. I did not do it. I did not kill Joffrey but I wish that I had. Watching your vicious bastard die gave me more relief than a thousand lying whores!” Tyrion yelled, looking at both Cersei and Shae.

Sansa had never seen Tyrion this angry before. And while she did not blame him for his anger, she was afraid he would say something that would only make the situation worse.

Tyrion turned to face the crowd. “I wish I was the monster you think I am. I wish I had enough poison for the whole pack of you. I would gladly give my life to watch you all swallow it,”

“Ser Meryn!” Tywin stood as he called for the knight over the showing crowd. “Ser Meryn, escort the prisoner back to his cell.”

“I will not give my life for Joffrey’s murder and I know I’ll get no justice here. So I will let the gods decide my fate. I demand a trial by combat.”

The shouts of the crowd grew louder, most of them demanding their execution. Sansa closed her eyes and tried to drown out the noise. Tyrion was right. There would be no justice in this court for him and that could only mean there would be no justice for her either when it came time for her trial.

Sansa felt as if she might be sick.

Whoever Tyrion named his champion would have to win. Because if he won, Tyrion would be freed and he could make sure she wouldn’t have to face her trial.


	5. The Tournament

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks lovelies always for the kudos/comments! I hope y'all enjoy this next chapter. I definitely had fun writing it! And it's so nice to be able to post this after the week I have. This is kind of like a destressor for me, lol! Leave your thoughts my dear readers! <3

Tyrion was in a new cell. It was larger, more windows and fresh air coming through and even a cot. More comforts for the person staying. It was a holding cell for those who had already gone through trial, a place where they can experience a few last comforts before their punishment.

In his case, a trial by combat.

All his anger and disgust for the people who hated him, who wanted him dead, who only saw him as a demon monkey or an imp or, worse, a monster, finally boiled over. And his anger and despair towards the father who wanted him dead the moment he was born had only made the explosion even worse.

He should’ve taken the deal Jaime offered. Admit to what he had done, then go to the Wall as an exile. Not for his sake though. He should’ve done it for Sansa. Because she could've lived out her days in King’s Landing, raising their child if the procedure worked.

But his anger had consumed him and he didn’t stop to think of the repercussions for her until after all was said and done. When his eyes landed on her as the guards were unshackling him to lead him back to his cell. She held her head high, but did not look at him. Her face held the same blank expression she always had when the pain became too much and she retreated inside her own mind.

What had he done? If he didn’t survive this trial by combat…then he was dead. Who would make sure Sansa didn’t suffer the same fate?

Hours after the trial, his mind was still filled with self-loathing thoughts. Sansa had not moved cells, meaning he couldn’t sit by the wall and offer her comfort and plead forgiveness for his rash actions.

Then Jaime came in, sat on his cot, and began reprimanding Tyrion.

“I made a deal for you to keep your ungrateful head on your ungrateful neck a little while longer,” Jaime said, just barely managing to keep his voice down to avoid any guards overhearing him.

“I’m sorry,” Tyrion said without an ounce of apology in his voice. The anger he felt in the court surged again. “What am I grateful for? The opportunity to live and die at the Wall as punishment for a crime I did not commit?”

“You threw your life away. You threw it away along with Sansa’s and maybe even your unborn child.” Jaime took a breath, gauging Tyrion’s reaction. “It’s not a joke. You understand that, don’t you?”

Tyrion ignored Jaime’s mention of Sansa. His mind was already consumed with thoughts of her fate. “Of course it’s a joke, just not a very funny one." He stopped, words catching in his throat. “I couldn’t…I couldn’t listen to her standing there, telling her lies. I couldn’t do it.” He looked up at Jaime, hoping to see something in his eyes that said he understood.

“You fell in love with a whore,” Jaime said. There was pity in his eyes. But no judgment. Even if his voice verged on incredulous.

“Yes, I fell in love with a whore. And I was stupid enough to think that she had fallen in love with me." Tyrion swallowed hard. He would never make that mistake again. Thinking someone loved him. No one could possibly love him. Maybe Jaime, but that was it. And maybe at some point there could’ve been a chance that his wife would grow to love him.

But not anymore. Not after he ruined her chances at survival after letting her go through an experiment at Qyburn’s hands that was supposed to guarantee her survival.

Tyrion changed the subject. “That deal you made, it was everything Father wanted. You do see that. He gets you back at his heir. The future Lord of the Rock. And he ships me off to Castle Black, out of sight at last.”

“And your child? Assuming Qyburn’s procedure worked.”

“You think Father would chose my own child over you as an heir?" Tyrion pursed his lips. "I would never see him. Or her, whatever the gods decide. Father would be in charge of their education, morphing them into who he wants them to be and developing a hate for their traitorous imp of a father. They’d simply be another pawn for Father and after Sansa’s death, a Lannister would finally have control of the North." And as he thought it, he couldn’t imagine Tywin allowing Sansa to live for much longer.

“All so perfect,” Tyrion mumbled. “It felt good to take that from him. He knows I’m innocent and he’s willing to sacrifice me anyway.”

“He’s willing to sacrifice any of us,” Jaime countered.

“Not you.” Tyrion practically spat out with jealousy. “You’re the golden son. You could kill a king, lose a hand, fuck your own sister, you’ll always be the golden son.”

“Careful,” Jaime narrowed his eyes. “I’m the last friend you’ve got,”

Tyrion scoffed softly. “I would like to hope that my wife is still my friend too.”

Jaime shook his head. “I doubt that. Not after what you did in the court. Not after you put her life at risk _again_ by demanding trial by combat,”

Tyrion shook his head. It was as if Jaime had read his mind. “At least I got to tell them what they really are,” Tyrion said, picking at the stone wall. “And even though Sansa might not have had a chance or even a voice to do so, I know she’s always thought the same,”

“Yes, brilliant speech. They’ll be talking about it for days to come.” Jaime’s voice came out condescending. “I thought you were a realist. Didn’t realize you’d die for pride.”

“Don’t give up on me just yet.” He looked up to meet Jaime’s gaze. “I survived one trial by combat, even though you weren’t there to save me.”

Jaime was the one to look away this time. “I can’t save you this time either.” He could see out of the corner of his eye the tension rising in Tyrion’s body. But it was the truth and he had to tell him. “My training has proved that I can’t beat a stable boy with my left hand.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Tyrion reached for one last thread of hope. “Even if you lose, imagine the look on Father’s face when you fall." At that, Jaime laughed a little. It encouraged Tyrion. “Our family name snuffed out with a single swing of the sword,”

Jaime looked back up. “It is tempting. But once again, you’re forgetting about the child you've just sired. Father’s face won’t look that devastated.”

The lightness that had entered the air immediately vanished.

“Well…Bronn fought for me once, he’ll do it again. If he wins, I expect I’ll be in his debt for the rest of my life.”

“If he wins,” Jaime repeated.

“Will you find him for me?”

His brother nodded.

“Who does Cersei plan on naming as a champion? I hope it’s Ser Meryn Trant. I’d enjoy watching Bronn disembowel that pompous child beater.”

“No. Not Ser Meryn,” Jaime whispered.

Tyrion looked at his brother with a curious look, but he felt a deep pit in his stomach. Cersei would only trust one other person with a fight like this.

* * *

The seam on the cot finally came undone. A few bits of straw fell to the ground. Sansa counted them. Fifteen. Fifteen bits of straw fell from the seam she had been picking at since this morning. One of the straw bits landed on Tyrion’s letter. She hadn’t looked at it since the trial. She didn’t want to look at it.

Days had passed. Sansa was sure at least a week. And no one brought her any news. She paced her cell, counting her steps to keep her mind busy thinking about those numbers instead of everything else.

She didn’t know what Tyrion had been thinking when he demanded a trial by combat. The man she had seen as always so calm and collected and never allowing anything to faze him had morphed into something entirely different during his speech.

Shae’s deception must have hurt him more than she imagined.

Gods, she didn’t want to think about Shae. Her strange handmaiden who dried her tears, but still kept her voice firm as if she didn’t want Sansa to get close. Yet Sansa had considered her a friend, before she disappeared just before Joffrey’s wedding. And Sansa was foolish enough to miss her at first. Because Shae kept secrets for her. Even after she told her to trust no one. Especially her.

Sansa should’ve listened to her.

Now, she was waiting on news of the trial by combat. If Tyrion had found a champion. Or if he would have to fight whoever Cersei had named.

She had sinking feeling in her stomach that he would have to do it himself. The only two people Tyrion could possibly name were Jaime or Bronn. Jaime had lost his right hand and could not engage in combat like before. And Bronn…Cersei had most likely bought the sells-sword's loyalty.

Tyrion wouldn’t last more than five minutes in the combat.

He would die and she would follow soon after.

Because the procedure hadn’t worked.

That morning, when Sansa got up to relieve herself, she saw small specks of blood in her undergarments. Her moon cycle was here.

It came differently this time though. Most likely from the stress and lack of food. There was usually always so much blood and her insides would twist inside. And nothing could relieve the pain except a tea Shae always made her.

Sansa shut her eyes. No, she would not think of Shae.

After she saw the blood, Sansa went back to her cot and laid there, crying softly for the first time since the trial.

That procedure was the only thing that could have saved her. Especially after Tyrion’s outburst. But it hadn’t worked and in a few days time when her blood flowed like normal, they would know. She would stand trial and they would remember the way Tyrion behaved in the court and would show her no mercy.

Sansa would die.

A shuddering breath escaped her. At least she would be joining the rest of her family. No more lies. No more pain. No more Lannister’s.

Bells began tolling once the sun reached the middle of the sky. It could’ve been mistaken for the midday arrival. But Sansa could hear the difference in those bells. They went on and on and on. Something was about to happen. She felt her stomach churn and began feeling lightheaded.

The door to her cell opened after the bells stopped and a nameless guard came in, holding out shackles and demanding for her to stand.

The combat was about to begin.

Sansa didn’t bother drying her cheeks. She was going to die. She didn’t care if they whispered about her weeping.

The guard led her outside to the arena. People yelling and jeering as she walked down the steps. She ignored them all, keeping her eyes focused directly ahead of her. She was led to a canopy away from everyone. Prince Oberyn was there, kissing Ellaria. Sansa didn’t understand why he was there and not sitting with the rest of the royal family and the council.

But Prince Oberyn didn’t notice her arrival and Sansa wasn’t interested enough to interrupt him as he and Ellaria continued. She took her seat, waiting for the combat to commence.

“Looks like very light armor,”

Tyrion’s voice caught her attention. She briefly glanced up, then turned away, fighting off a sudden wave of nausea. The first day of her moon cycle was always difficult for her.

Tyrion faltered in his steps, seeming to just notice her there. He pursed his lips into a thin line, before turning his attention back to Prince Oberyn.

“I like to move around,” Oberyn said as he let go of Ellaria. He finally saw Sansa sitting there quietly. He gave her a small bow. “Do not worry, my lady. I will win this and you and your husband will walk free from this to enjoy your new family together,”

Prince Oberyn was Tyrion’s champion? Sansa looked at Tyrion, who was avoiding her gaze. “Thank you Prince Oberyn,” she said, not wanting to mention anything about their lie of a family.

Tyrion gave a small huff. “You could at least wear a helmet,” he said, returning to his previous protests.

Oberyn poured himself a glass of wine.

“You shouldn’t drink before a fight.”

“You learn this during your years in the fighting pits?” Oberyn said with hint of a tease. “I always drink before a fight.”

“It could get you killed.” Tyrion spoke through clenched teeth. He finally made eye contact with Sansa and held her gaze. “It could get us killed,” he said softer.

Oberyn drained his glass and set it down. “Today is not the day I die.”

Cheering from the crowd arose. Sansa looked and saw Ser Gregor Clegane saunter into the arena. The Mountain. Her stomach rolled. That’s who Cersei had named as her champion. She looked to Oberyn and prayed for a miracle.

“You’re going to fight that?” Ellaria asked, sharing Sansa’s fear.

“I’m going to kill that.”

“He’s the biggest man I’ve ever seen.”

Sansa took a deep breath, trying not to think of how quickly this fight was going to end.

But Oberyn still did not seem at all concerned. “Size does not matter when you are flat on your back.”

“Thank the gods,” Tyrion murmured.

Sansa’s eyes shot open. She was familiar enough with Tyrion’s double meanings and couldn’t believe even now he still found places to insert them.

A horn blew and Maester Pycelle began the traditional opening speech. But he was cut off as Lord Tywin waved his hand for the horn to blow again and for the combat to begin.

Ellaria and Oberyn shared one final parting kiss. Sansa looked away to allow them some privacy. But she was sure they didn’t mind. Oberyn was tossed a spear and met the Mountain in the arena.

Watching him spin and dance around with spear only made her nausea worse.

Tyrion moved to stand next to her. “Sansa, I-“

“You don’t have to explain,” Sansa interrupted. That wasn’t entirely true. Yes, she understood his anger. But why did he put their lives at risk again? She just didn’t want to hear his explanation. Not another one.

“Oberyn _will_ win. And…we can have our family in peace.”

Sansa looked down. There were guards watching them. So she just gave a barely perceptible shake of her head.

Tyrion caught it and he shifted where he stood. He glanced up at the guards before looking at her. “You’re sure?” he whispered.

“Yes,” she whispered back. “It didn’t work.”

Tyrion let out a deep breath. “Oberyn will win,” he repeated, with less conviction this time.

Sansa didn’t respond. Oberyn and the Mountain were now fighting. All focus was on them.

And Oberyn was actually doing well. But his jumping and spins and circling was making her even more dizzy. Her stomach was twisting and turning and Sansa wanted to lie down.

Through all his maneuvering, Oberyn had somehow managed to bring the Mountain to his knees. And Oberyn leapt and drove his spear straight through the Mountain’s chest.

Sansa felt the air leave her lungs. Oberyn was going to win. And they were going to be free.

But then Oberyn pulled out the spear and began pacing. He was talking and yelling, pointing at Tywin and demanding the Mountain say who gave the order for the death of his sister and her children.

He had gained too much confidence. Sansa wanted to yell at him to finish it. To stop with this show and bring and end to this all. Because they were so close to finally being free and maybe this time, they could actually leave King's Landing. Go to Highgarden or Dorne, or even back North. Anywhere far away from these people.

But Oberyn didn't bring his spear down for the final kill. Instead, he looked up and gave a small glance towards Ellaria.

That was all it took.

The Mountain swiped at Oberyn’s feet and caused him to stumble. Then he grabbed the Prince by the neck, punched him. He dropped him, letting him roll to his back.

He climbed on top of Oberyn and began squeezing his head and jamming his thumbs into his eyes. Sansa closed her eyes, her nausea reaching a peak and Oberyn’s screams echoing in the arena. Then there was a horrifying crack and Oberyn’s screams were replaced by Ellaria’s.

She opened her eyes again to see Oberyn dead and Gregor close behind.

Tyrion was pale, staring at the scene, and she knew exactly how he felt.

Freedom had been within their grasp. But the gods cruelly tore it away.

Lord Tywin stood up. “The gods have made their will known.” His voice carried throughout the arena. “Tyrion Lannister, in the name of King Tommen of the House Baratheon, First of His Name, you are hereby sentenced to death.”

And Sansa leaned over her chair and threw up what little contents her stomach held.


	6. The Escape

Two days passed since the trial by combat. Sansa was keeping track of the days now. She was curious as to how many days would it take before they came for her to be present for her husband’s execution?

In the two days that she had been waiting though, she had noticed something. Her moon cycle had stopped abruptly. Or perhaps that wasn’t the right phrasing. It had never really come, had it? That small spotting...it wasn’t it. After that small spotting of blood, there hadn’t been the heavy flow she always had.

Did that mean the procedure had worked?

And now Tyrion was going to his death thinking Sansa’s womb was empty.

She wondered if she should tell him. But she still wasn’t sure. Maybe it hadn’t worked. Maybe she wasn't carrying Tyrion’s heir. She already told him the procedure hadn’t worked, why make things more difficult?

Her stomach was churning again with a new wave of nausea. She rolled over on her cot and stared out the window at the moon. She wanted to sleep, but the pain and her thoughts wouldn’t let her. She was positive tomorrow was the day. Tomorrow was the day they would force her to watch another execution.

The door to her cell opened.

Perhaps it was a midnight execution then.

“Lady Sansa?”

She looked up. Jaime Lannister. “Is it time?” she asked softly.

Jaime glanced out into the hallway, “Come, we have to hurry.”

She sat up and noticed no other guards accompanied him. He didn’t have shackles for her, instead a cloak draped over one arm. She didn’t have enough hope to even consider that this might be an escape.

Jaime looked out into the hallway again, before coming into her cell and hurrying towards her. He bent down in front of her in the cot, holding the torch away from her. “Do you trust me?”

Sansa pursed her lips. Did he really expect her to answer that honestly?

Jaime gave a wry smile and looked down as if he read her thoughts. “I promised your mother a long time ago that I would return you and your sister home safely. I intend on keeping that promise.”

“I’m going home?” Tears filled her eyes at the thought of the cold and barren landscape that she loved.

Jaime winced. “Not exactly. But you’ll be safe. I promise.”

No, of course she wasn’t going home. But he said that she would be safe. And why would he come here alone in the middle of the night?

Before her mind could come up any protests, she took the cloak and wrapped it around her as she stood.

Jaime gave a pleased nod, then hurried back to the door and held out his hand for her.

Sansa looked down and saw Tyrion’s letter. She bent down to grab it, then went towards Jaime, allowing him to lead her down the halls.

They walked fast, but quietly. There were no guards around and the other prisoners were dead asleep. It was eerie walking these halls at night. But her heart thudded in her chest as a word came to mind that she hadn’t wanted to think of for weeks.

 _Freedom_.

“There’s a locked door at the top of the stairs,” Jaime said as he stopped in front of a stairwell. “Knock on it twice, then twice again. Varys will open and Tyrion will be there too."

Sansa let out a breath. This was it. This was finally happening. She was steps away from finally leaving King’s Landing, her personal hell. She took two steps up the stairs, then paused and turned to Jaime. “Thank you, Ser Jaime.”

Jaime gave her a grim smile. “You’ll find your way home, Lady Sansa. I know you will one day. Quickly now, they’re waiting.” he lowered his torch and walked back the way he came, leaving Sansa in completely darkness.

She climbed up the stairs, glancing behind every few seconds, fearing there would be a guard or Cersei right behind her, ready to take her back to her cell.

But she reached the door and no one was behind her. No one had come after her. Her hands were shaking as she knocked twice, paused, then twice again like Jaime had instructed.

Varys opened the door. “Lady Sansa.” He peeked behind her, then opened the door wider for her to pass through.

As she did, Sansa noticed two things. There was a large crate in the middle of the room and Tyrion wasn’t there.

“Where’s your husband?” Varys asked as he closed the door.

Sansa shook her head, trying to calm her breathing. “Ser Jaime said he’d be here already.” She tried to keep the panic out of her voice, but she could not stop shaking.

What if a guard found him? What if Jaime had lied? What if Tyrion decided he would escape another way?

“We’ll wait a few more moments. Don’t worry, my lady.”

Sansa could see the worry in his face though. She took several deep breaths, clenching and unclenching her fists, listening to the way Tyrion’s letter continuously wrinkled in her hand.

Varys was silent, offering Sansa no comfort. Sansa didn’t mind. What could he possibly say that would calm her now?

They waited longer than a few moments. And just as Varys turned to look at Sansa as if to tell her they could wait no longer, two knocks came, followed by a pause and two more knocks.

Varys quickly opened the door, ensuring Sansa was out of sight when he did, just in case.

“What have you done?” Varys breathed. Then he reached forward. “Quickly.”

Tyrion was pushed forward. And even in the dark, Sansa could see the scratches and fresh blood on his face. When he saw Sansa, he looked away and even took a step back.

Sansa swallowed hard. He had done something. Something terrible and she was afraid to ask.

She didn’t have time to ask even if she had the courage. Varys led Tyrion to the crate after closing and locking the door. “Trust me, my friend,” he said, helping Tyrion climb into the crate. “I brought you this far.” He placed a bag of supplies in the crate before sliding on the top and covering the holes where Tyrion’s face could be seen.

He turned to Sansa. “You’ll have to wear your hood now and keep your head down.”

And then he leaned against the wall and waited. Sansa wanted to ask what was next. Who was coming for them now? Where were they going? …what had Tyrion done?

Two men came down the hall. Sansa had never seen them before. She kept her head lowered even more as they walked up to the crate, hefted it up, and began walking back down the hall.

Varys followed after them and Sansa did too.

“Don’t worry,” Varys said softly. “They won’t say anything. They _can’t._ ”

She felt slight relief at that, but still made sure her head stayed down.

They walked out of the Red Keep, the first time in what felt like forever. The two men were obviously growing tired. They jostled the crate Tyrion was in and Sansa wanted to tell them to be careful. But she still kept her head down and walked.

There was a light bustle on the streets. Vendors who were setting up their stands before dawn, drunks staggering out of taverns and brothels.

And no one paid any attention to them.

They made it to the docks and stopped in front of a ship that was preparing to leave. Sansa watched from under her hood as they placed Tyrion’s crate on a netted rope. The rope was lifted up and loaded onto the ship.

“Will he be all right?” Sansa risked asking.

Varys nodded. “Just as you will be,” he said as another man approached them.

“This her?” he asked jutting his chin towards Sansa.

Sansa kept her head down as Varys addressed this new man. “Yes.”

The man regarded Sansa for a moment. “Private cabin. Three meals at day. Not to be disturbed at all.” He sniffed. “You’re asking for a lot, Lord Varys.”

Varys handed the man two bags full of coins. “And here’s double.”

The man opened one bag, then the other. He stuffed them in his coat pocket. “All right then. Come on, girl. I’ll show you to your room.”

Sansa followed him. Varys didn’t join her though. He had turned around and was walking back to the Red Keep. She was going to be alone, with Tyrion stuck in a crate, going gods know where.

But as she walked up the gangplank, she heard the bells of the Red Keep sounding. The guards must have finally realized they were gone. She paused to look back and saw Varys turn around for the ship again.

Perhaps she wouldn’t be completely alone.

* * *

 

Only once before had Sansa ever been out on water. And that was on a small boat on a river for just a few hours. She loved it, the gentle swaying of the rippling water, the fresh air on her face as they rowed lazily down the river.

It was nothing compared to being on a ship. The waves constantly rocked the ship and she could never seem to find her footing when she stood to walk to the wash basin or the table in her private cabin.

And she felt sick the entire time. Anything she put into her stomach was rejected and came back up hours later.

After two days, Sansa gave up eating and only drank her water.

“Tyrion complained to me once that you never ate. He feared you would one day just float away on the breeze since you ate so little,” Varys said after her second day of not eating. “I always assumed he was exaggerating. Apparently not.” He pushed a slice of bread towards her.

Sansa turned, burying her face in her pillow and fighting off another wave of nausea. “I’m not hungry,”

“But you have to eat. For the sake of your child,”

Sansa tensed. It was the first time Varys had said anything about it. In fact, this was the first time Varys was having an actual conversation with her. “What if…there isn’t one?” She whispered. Even this far out at sea, Sansa was still afraid of someone overhearing and word getting back to Cersei and Tywin.

Varys clicked his tongue. “When was the last time you bled?”

She could feel her face warming. She never heard a man speak so bluntly about a moon cycle. But Varys was much different from normal men, wasn’t he?

She focused back on his question. If she didn’t count the small spots of blood that day of the combat, then it would’ve been before Joffrey’s wedding. Almost a month and a half.

Varys leaned towards her and held the bread closer. “You need to eat for the sake of your child," he repeated. "The morning sickness will pass, but you have to eat,”

Sansa rolled to her side to face Varys. She took the bread from him and nibbled on the corner. She expected him to leave.

He didn’t.

He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands. “I’m not leaving until you finish.”

If Sansa didn’t feel terrible, she would’ve scowled. If Varys wasn’t going to leave, then she decided to ask him the questions she needed answer to. “Where are we going?” She took another larger bite of her bread.

“For your safety, I can not tell you until we arrive.”

Sansa took another bite. “Is Tyrion all right?”

“Yes.”

She knew there was more to say about that, but Varys didn’t expound on his answer. So she tried one last question. “What did he do? Right before we left, what did he do?”

At this Varys gave her a grim smile. “That is something he’ll have to answer himself.”

Varys gave Sansa none of the answers she wanted. She didn’t ask him any other questions and Varys stayed silent while she finished her bread.

Once done, he gave her a nod of approval. “I’ll have some tea made for you for your morning sickness,”

That’s how the rest of her days on the ship went. Varys coming into her room with light food. He would sit silently until she ate it all, then leave to bring her some tea. Some days she managed to keep her food down. Others, even the sight of the bread made her want to throw up.

But she still ate and Sansa could feel some energy return to her. She even began walking around her small cabin, stretching her legs and staring out the window at the wide open sea, pretending she wasn’t feeling dizzy.

On the eighth day for dinner, Varys came in with her usual light meal, but also a small bowl of black paste. Sansa sat at the table and started eating her bread accompanied with chicken broth.

“We’ve almost arrived to our destination. The captain is predicting we’ll be there as soon as tomorrow afternoon,” Varys said, disturbing their quiet routine.

Sansa didn’t mind. His news was the best she had heard in weeks.

“Your hair will draw unwanted attention.”

Her hand went to grab a strand subconsciously. “Is that what the black paste is for?”

Varys nodded.

Sansa couldn’t imagine herself with black hair. She didn’t like the image. She loved the color of her hair. It was one of the few things that still connected her to her mother. “Do I have to?” she asked, even though she already knew his answer.

“Or you could walk around with a hood and cloak at all times, but even that will inevitably draw attention where we're going.”

Sansa dipped her bread into the last of her chicken broth. “Is it permanent?”

“No, it’ll wash out in a few days and we’ll have to have it redone anytime you go out into public,”

Then that was it. She just wouldn’t go out into public. Why would she want to anyways? Everywhere she went, people hated her. Only in the North did they show her love and she knew she was even further away from her home now. She stared down at her remaining food, her small appetite gone. “All right.”

Varys waited until she was done eating. He moved a chair to the wash basin and asked her to sit there as he dyed her hair.

Sansa did as he asked. She closed her eyes as the first swipe of the black paste went down her red hair. It felt as if she was losing another part of herself. Another part of her mother. Another part of her heritage.

“What color was your hair before?” Sansa asked, surprising both herself and Varys at the abruptness of the question. But she had to distract herself while he worked.

“This might surprise you, but I actually have never had any hair,”

Sansa almost turned around. “Really?”

“Yes,”

“But...you have eyebrows,”

“The only hair that ever grew,”

“Then what color of hair do you wish you had?”

Varys paused, holding the brush in mid-air. “I believe blonde would suit me. But no curls. They are difficult to maintain and become matted easily,”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because of all the people I know, the curly-haired ones are the ones who complain the most about their hair,”

And so it continued like that. Sansa asking Varys odd questions, questions he had never been asked before, yet were so simple. Innocent even. For a moment, Sansa felt as if she was back in Winterfell, talking with one of her friends, passing the time as they worked on their needlework. Except Varys was not a girl her age. Nor were they at Winterfell. And she wasn't even sure she should consider Varys a friend. Yes, he helped them escape, but how much longer until he finally betrayed them?

Varys finished and handed Sansa a mirror. She didn’t recognize her reflection. Staring back wasn’t a naïve girl with chubby childhood cheeks.

No, this was a young woman with sharp eyes and a thin face, who had seen too much of the world and whose journey was not yet over.

A woman Sansa had never seen before.

She looked away, handing the mirror back to Varys and mumbling a thank you. He gave a small bow and retreated.

As soon as he was gone, Sansa moved to her bed and sobbed, burying her face in her pillows in hopes of drowning out the sound.


	7. The Decision

They were finally off the ship. _They were finally off the ship_. Tyrion was still in his crate, but they were leaving the ship and maybe finally he could actually get out of this fucking crate and stretch and walk and breath in fresh air. He peeked through one of the holes of the crate, making sure it wasn’t the one he stuffed his shit through.

They weren’t in Westeros anymore. That much he could tell from the look and smell of this new place.

It seemed like they walked forever until finally, they came to a shaded area full of trees. From the hole, Tyrion could actually make out a small pavilion.

His crate was dropped, jostling Tyrion. Then he could hear wood splintering. And suddenly, Tyrion was rolling out of the crate, the sun burning his eyes and the world spinning even though he wasn’t moving.

He squinted up, the sun blurring everything and he was sure he was seeing double. Two forms were standing in front of him and it took a few blinks before Tyrion could focus on who they were. Varys, blocking the majority of the sun’s rays and Sansa standing right next to him.

He immediately noticed her hair. It was black now and, if it was possible, it made her look even more pale.

Tyrion breathed in the fresh air deeply. His whole body ached after being crammed in that crate for who knows how long. He stretched out and struggled to stand.

And then a hand was extended to him. He looked up to Sansa’s face. Her unreadable face, or maybe it was only unreadable because he was already half drunk today.

He took her hand and stood up, stretching and relishing the way his muscles and bones were finally able to move. Several bones popped and he gave a grateful nod to Sansa, deciding not to look at her directly, then turned to Varys, grabbing onto the crate to support himself.

“Apologies,” the man said, then moved to wash his hands.

Sansa had only taken a few steps back. She was still close to him. He didn’t understand how she could stand the smell of him. He was filthy. “I still don’t see why I had to stay in this fucking crate once we set sail.” His first rough words were directed towards Varys.

“I saved your life.” Varys dried off his hands. “If they catch you, they catch me. I cannot say I feel overly guilty about leaving you in that fucking crate.” He stood by the crate and touched it almost fondly. “You should be more like your wife and show more gratitude.”

“Well, she wasn’t the one stuck in the fucking crate,” Tyrion grumbled. It wasn’t kind, but he couldn’t stop himself. Words always spilled too quickly from his mouth after several drinks of wine. And he already had more than several.

Varys scoffed. “Even if she could fit in one, it would hardly be reasonable to stuff a pregnant woman in one,”

At that, Tyrion turned to look at her. But she was looking down, pointedly avoiding his eyes. “She isn’t,” he said in a gentler tone.

“She is. Qyburn’s procedure worked.”

Both of their heads lifted to look at Varys.

He shrugged his shoulders. “My little birds go down even to the darkest cells of King’s Landing.”

Tyrion scowled, turning away again. “Well, your little birds were wrong. Tell him, Sansa. It didn’t work.”

“It did,” Sansa spoke barely above a whisper.

The scowl fell from his face. “But you said-“

“I was wrong.”

Tyrion groaned and shook his head. First, he had prayed to the gods it would work. That she would be pregnant and could live out her days in peace with their child. But now…now that they had their freedom...One of the few things that made the trip bearable was the fact that Sansa was _not_ pregnant.

Now she says she is pregnant.

His stomach rolled as he moved from the crate to lean against the pole of the pavilion. He was not in the right state of mind to think about Sansa carrying his heir. He looked around, avoiding Sansa's direction. “Pentos?” He changed the subject.

“The home of my colleague Illyrio Mopatis. A merchant,” answered Varys. “He and I met many years ago through mutual friends. A group of people who saw Robert Baratheon for the disaster he was.”

Varys continued explaining his past with man, Illyrio. Tyrion wasn’t interested. He made his way to the table where he saw a flagon full of wine. The wine smelled of spices and it was definitely better than the shit Varys passed him on the ship. He grabbed a cup and poured himself some, barely registering Varys’ words.

He was droning on and on about politics and kings and saving Westeros from itself.

“You should have some water first.” Sansa’s voice broke through Tyrion’s concentration of ignoring all words.

Tyrion grumbled in disagreement. “Mmm, much better.” He drained the cup almost as quickly as he had poured it.

“My lord?"

“I don’t think I am anymore.” Tyrion finally spoke to Varys again. He poured himself another drink. “A lord,” he paused, draining his cup. His head was spinning. He already had too much wine today. And Sansa was right. He needed to drink water. But that didn’t stop him from pouring a third cup. “Are you a lord if you kill your father? I don’t imagine they revoke your nobility for killing a whore. It must happen all the time.”

“You already drank yourself across the Narrow Sea.” Varys would not let him be.

“In a box. Why stop now?”

“Because we are talking about the future of our country.” Varys stepped closer.

Tyrion drained his fourth cup. Or was it fifth now? He had already lost count. And he finally looked up at Sansa again. He imagined he would see disgust at his drunkenness and filth. But instead, her eyes were full of tears. Why would she…?

Oh.

She was processing his earlier confession. That he killed his father and Shae before escaping. And even though Shae’s betrayal had been directed towards him, she still betrayed Sansa too. The betrayal might not have hurt her as much as it did Tyrion, but it still hurt her.  
  
And for the first time since escaping King's Landing, Tyrion regretted allowing himself to become this drunk. To allow his words to freely slip out without giving a second thought to how others might receive them.  
  
Especially Sansa.

In any other circumstance, comfort or even an apology might roll off his lips.

But he didn’t say any of those things. He was sure the words would only sound hollow to her. Tyrion finally looked away from her. “The future is shit. Just like the past.”

Then he leaned over and expelled all the wine he just drank.

Sansa made a soft choking sound and brought a hand up to her mouth. Tyrion thought it was finally her disgust for him showing through. “Excuse me,” she mumbled, before quickly walking away to retire to whatever room Varys had set up for her.

Tyrion poured himself another cup to drown out the sound of her receding footsteps.

“I always heard you were so kind to her. Even when you did get into your drunken fits,” Varys said as soon as she was gone.

“Why is she here?” Tyrion finally asked.

“We couldn’t very well just leave her there in King’s Landing. Not after you escaped. Do you know what they would’ve done to her, pregnant or not?”

Tyrion slammed his cup down. “No, that’s not what I meant,” he growled. “I mean why is she _here_? In Pentos? Why wasn’t she taken North, back to her home?”

“While pregnant with the Lannister heir? You know the North would be the first place Cersei would look for her. And since you’ve seen to the death of your father, nothing would hold her back from killing Sansa.”

“She could’ve gone to the Wall. Her bastard brother is still there, is he not?”

“Yes, but so is Stannis Baratheon. What do you think Stannis would do with the Lannister heir?”

Tyrion shook his head. “Stop.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop talking about the Lannister heir.”

“Why? That is what's growing in her womb.”

“ _No_ ,” Tyrion snapped. “She’s not! She’s…she can’t be pregnant.”

“But she is,” Varys said after a small pause. “Your wife is pregnant with your heir. No matter how unconventional the methods were.”

She couldn’t be. Because if she was, then that meant Tyrion had ruined her life. And she would hate him if she didn’t already.

“You’re obviously in no mood for serious conversation. I’ll leave you alone to your thoughts and the fresh air. Just ask one of the servants to direct you to your quarters when you’re ready to wash up.” Varys turned on his heel and Tyrion was alone.

He closed his eyes and breathed in the salty air. He hadn’t had enough wine to deal with his thoughts. So Tyrion poured himself another cup of wine and presented himself a challenge.

How quickly could he finish this flagon of wine?

* * *

Sansa thought she felt alone in her cell at King’s Landing. That was nothing compared to the loneliness she felt now. There was a whole sea separating her from her home now, even if it was called the Narrow Sea. The servants never spoke to her. Was it because they knew who she was? Who would come for her if they found out where she was? 

Originally, she wanted to stay outside, under the pavilion in the fresh air and on steady ground. But Tyrion was there and he was drunk and then he began retching and her stomach churned horrible and she felt like she was going to be sick.

His words were borderline hateful. Sansa knew they weren’t directed towards her. He had been stuck in that crate for more than a week. Plus, he was drunk.

But that did not change the fact that he admitted to killing both his father and Shae.

There was bad blood between Tyrion and his father. Sansa always knew that. She had heard his grumblings about him before when he had a glass too many and didn’t realize he was speaking aloud.

Shae though…he had loved her, hadn’t he? He loved her handmaiden who was actually his whore before they had married.

And Sansa found it odd that after they were married, Tyrion had no longer _been_ with her.

He really was an honorable man, no matter how much they painted him as a whore-mongering imp.

Shae’s betrayal had wounded him deeply.

Deeply enough to murder her though?

Sansa’s stomach rolled. No, she did not want to throw up and she did not want to think about her husband as a murderer.

That still didn’t stop her from crying. Because she was so far from home, Shae betrayed them both and Tyrion had killed her, if anyone from King’s Landing found them they would certainly be killed, she was pregnant even though their marriage was not officially consummated, and neither her nor Tyrion wanted her to be pregnant.

And a thought entered her mind.

It was still early in the pregnancy. Very early in fact. She could find a moon tea. At least this part of her nightmare could end.

Then Varys could spread out his little birds, make the claim that Sansa had suffered a miscarriage during her escape. She would she still be wanted by the crown, but it wouldn’t be as urgent. Because she wasn’t carrying a Lannister in her womb anymore. And she could go home, to the North.

Unbidden, thoughts of a child came to her mind. With Lannister-blonde hair, curly like Tyrion's, and a wide grin that all the Stark men shared.

Centuries of bad blood resulting in this: a Stark-Lannister heir.

Dinner was brought to her. She half expected Varys to show up once the servants stopped bringing in the food. But he didn’t. And her stomach churned again at the sight of the food, but she hadn’t eaten since that morning. She managed a few bites of some bread and cheese, before notifying the servants she was ready for bed.

They stared at her blankly.

“Bed. I want to go to sleep,” she repeated.

Again, blank stares.

Sansa bit her lip to keep from crying.

She readied herself for bed. She had been doing it without anyone’s help for almost two months now. She could continue on her own. Her sleep was fitful, waking up in the middle of the night to throw up, then crying into her pillow until she fell into a sleep full of dreams that were forgotten as soon as the sun broke over the horizon.

She tried to change on her own, slipping one of the dresses styled in Pentos fashion. But she couldn’t make sense of the garments and it wasn’t even that much cloth. And again, she wanted to cry and she hated that she wanted to cry, but she was just so frustrated and she didn’t understand these clothes and it showed so much of her body and she just wanted to go _home_.

Two female servants walked in, clicked their tongues and began speaking in a foreign language. And they helped her dress, wrapping and tying and pulling, until she was finally clothed.

There was still so much more skin exposed than she was accustomed to, but it was so warm here. It wouldn’t make sense to wear the long sleeves of the North. Another thing of home that she would have to shed.

They brought in her breakfast and tidied the room while she picked at the food. More tsking from them and one of them actually grabbed her plate, piled it with more food and pushed it in her direction.

But Sansa only nibbled on a few grapes, leaving everything else. She wondered if they were annoyed by her. Their chattering in another language sounded annoyed as they left her alone.

A few hours must have passed. Sansa stayed at the table for a while longer, still nibbling and forcing her stomach to hold something down. She wanted to find Varys, something she thought never would happen, and ask him for one of those teas, either to calm her stomach or rid her stomach of the cause. She wanted to ask him what they were supposed to do now. She wanted to ask him if she could go North.

She wanted to ask him if her husband would eventually be okay.

She left her room, intending to stretch her legs and breathe in the fresh air. Because even if she didn’t want to be there in the first place, she couldn’t deny that this place was beautiful.

It wasn’t hard to find her way outside again. Listening to the sound of the waves and people and birds. Like King’s Landing, but at the same time so different. It didn’t smell here. The people actually seemed nicer and would smile.

The tendency to look over her shoulder every five seconds though hadn’t disappeared.

After walking down the winding pathways for a while, she saw Tyrion. His arms were resting on the railing of a balcony, eyes squinting as he took in the scenery and a half emptied flagon of wine was beside him. He definitely looked much better than the last time she saw him, clean and in new clothes. He had long sleeves and part of Sansa wanted to complain about that. If he had long sleeves, then why couldn’t she?

He hadn’t seen her yet. Sansa stopped walking, trying to decide if she even wanted to talk to him right now. It was either him or Varys at this point though, considering she didn't speak the language, and Sansa hadn’t spotted the other man since yesterday. But she honestly did not feel like speaking to anyone in the first place. If she turned around now, she could go another direction and not have to speak to him.

But she hesitated too long and his roaming eyes found her. His shoulders seemed to sag when he saw her. “Sansa,” he greeted, refilling his cup with more wine. “I hope you rested well last night?”

She could still turn around. Ignore him completely and continue on her walk. For gods sake, he was half drunk. Not as bad as yesterday, but definitely at the very least tipsy. But if she walked away that would send him a message and she wasn’t sure she wanted him to receive that particular message.

“Have you had any water yet?” Sansa stepped forward, ignoring his own question.

Tyrion grimaced, but still drained his glass. “Yes, a cup last night.” As she neared, his eyes pointedly avoided looking at her now. He had many reasons to avoid looking at her. “I, um…your hair looks…I didn’t mention it yesterday, but-“

“I hate it.” She cut him off. “It’s another piece of home that’s been taken from me.”

Tyrion pursed his lips. This was the harshest Sansa had ever spoken to him before. But she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“I’m…” He took a deep breath. “I don’t know what else to say to you, Sansa. I’m…I’m sorry. For everything.” Tyrion finally looked up at her with the eyes of a broken man.

But she noticed how his eyes had lingered on her bare arms for a split second.

“What’s next? What are we going to do now because apparently the future is shit.”

He winced, but Sansa didn’t apologize. He was the one to speak those words first. “We’re going to Meereen. We leave in three days.”

Meereen was far. Further than Winterfell to King’s Landing. And it would take her even further away from home. “I don’t want to go,” she whispered, praying her voice didn't sound pleading.

“Sansa, you’re…” Tyrion paused and seemed to consider his words carefully. She wanted to point out that he could do that better if he stopped drinking so much wine. “You are pregnant with…with my heir.”

She swallowed hard and closed her eyes. The idea was difficult to even voice for either of them.

“I can’t leave behind my pregnant wife.”

“What if I wasn’t?”

He looked up at her again. “What?”

“What if I wasn’t?” She repeated. “What if I had a certain tea?”

All kinds of emotions flashed through his eyes. Until he finally looked away with a shake of his head. He humorlessly laughed and poured himself more wine. “It’s my fault. All of this. I placed an impossible decision before you and now…” He drank, almost emptying the cup again. “I can not make that decision for you,” he whispered.  
  
And for the second time in these last few months, Tyrion was allowing her to make a decision for herself.

Sansa pursed her lips. “If I chose to…then could I stay? Or even go north to the Wall?”

Tyrion stared at the horizon. He didn’t answer her. Sansa looked, wondering if there was something in particular that had caught his attention. He spoke again, just before Sansa decided to walk away. “Yes. Yes, I suppose you could do that.”

And he looked exhausted as soon as he said those words.

* * *

She had three days to decide. Sansa thought it would be an easy decision. She wouldn’t throw up as often anymore. Her incessant crying at almost everything would stop. She could go the Wall and find Jon and be back in the place she belonged, leaving behind a life and a name that wasn’t hers.

Yet, she never asked for the actual tea.

She would have to decide soon. Because it was the eve of the day Varys and Tyrion were leaving. Varys had been the one to remind of her it this morning. He came in the room after the servants had cleared away her breakfast.

She willed her stomach to keep her small breakfast down when she saw him come in with that same bowl of black paste.

“I’ve heard complaints of you not eating right again.” Varys said, separating her strands of hair.

Sansa huffed. “I knew they were talking about me in front of me,” she grumbled.

“I could teach you some of the language. It would be useful for you to know anyways…if you’re planning on joining us.’

Sansa didn’t answer him.

“We leave tomorrow, dear. You’re going to have to make up your mind by then.”

She didn’t feel like leaving the room today. Maybe it had to do with the few strands of red that had begun peeking through were just painted over. Or maybe it was because she felt that today of all days would be when she would run into Tyrion again after their last conversation outside. Or maybe it was because if she stepped outside, that would mean she had to accept that time kept moving and she would have to make a decision.

But an hour after lunch, she found herself vomiting into a bucket that had been left to her for that very reason. And she came to her decision.

She could _not_ keep doing this.

Sansa rinsed out her mouth and grabbed a few mint leaves that had been left for her after lunch and began sucking on them. She opened her door and was met by the two servant girls that had been attending her the most.

Their eyes were wide and they began gesturing for her to go back into her room.

Sansa shook her head. “No, I…I need to speak to Lord Varys.”

They whispered in their own language, trying to urge her back into her room.

“No, I’m going back in. Varys. Where is he? Varys?”

But they didn’t answer her. They looked about ready to physically push Sansa back into her room. She quickly side stepped away from them and hurried down the hall. She had to find Varys before she could give her decision anymore thought and change her mind.

The two servants hurried after her. But they didn’t stop her.

She turned a corner where she knew the great hall was. Surely there would be a servant or guard in there who could tell her where Varys was.

As she neared, she could hear Varys in there. Wonderful. She wouldn’t have to mime her message to anyone else.

But when he stopped talking, another voice responded.

She froze, her breath leaving her lungs and the blood stopping in her veins. She knew that voice.

It was Lord Baelish.


	8. The Journey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay for this update! Work got crazy on me for a moment there, but things have calmed down and I finally have time to write again! This chapter was super fun to write. It kind of just flowed and I hope you lovelies enjoy it! Leave your thoughts/kudos! <3

“Did she tell you anything?”

Varys looked down at Tyrion. “Like what?”

Tyrion narrowed his eyes. “Has she come to a decision?”

Varys shrugged. “It doesn’t seem like it. But I don’t know. She was very quiet with me today.” He actually seemed upset by this new development. Tyrion wasn’t sure he liked this new relationship that was transpiring between the two. “Have you tried asking her yourself?” Came Varys’ pointed question.

Tyrion grimaced. “I doubt she’d speak to me about it.”

“Have you even tried?” Varys looked at him with his trademark bored expression. But underneath it, Tyrion could pick up traces of annoyance and even frustration. All directed towards him.

Tyrion didn’t answer. No, he did not at all like this budding friendship.

“It’s my understanding that you’ve been avoiding her since she found you outside a few days ago.”

“Don’t assume I’m the only one doing the avoiding.” Tyrion drank from his goblet. More wine because it was the only thing making these days bearable. “She’s avoiding me just as much.”

Varys hummed in agreement. “But she has a more valid reason to avoid you.” He turned to look at Tyrion. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

This man. It could’ve been anyone else who helped him escape and brought him to Pentos. But no. It had to be Varys. And he could be completely insufferable and-

A servant rushed in and began speaking to Varys in Valyrian. The young man was obviously panicked as he spoke.

Tyrion’s Valyrian was terrible, but he still managed to pick up a few words. And then there was one word that did not need translating.

Littlefinger.

Varys responded in Valyrian and the young man nodded, then hurried back the way came from.

“Is he here?” Tyrion asked in a whisper.

Varys nodded, looking around the room. “Yes, and he’s coming here to speak with me.”

Tyrion held back a groan. Varys was obviously looking for a hiding spot. “Right now? What happened to your little birds? Why didn’t they tell you anything?” He hissed.

“I’ll have to have a meeting with them, but right now, you need to hide.” Varys stood and walked to the window. He pushed aside the curtain and motioned for Tyrion to hide there.

Tyrion clenched his jaw. This was ridiculous.

But there was no time to argue. He stood up from his chair in the great hall and hurried to hide behind the curtain.

He felt _childish_! He hadn’t done this since he was five back at Casterly Rock, hiding from his father after-

Seven hells, he did not want to think about his father right now.

Moments after the curtain had settled and Varys had taken his seat again, Tyrion could hear a new pair of footsteps enter.

“Lord Baelish.” Varys’ chair scraped as the man most likely stood. “What a surprise to see you here. I didn’t realize you conducted business here in Pentos."

“Normally I don’t, but it seems my business has taken a rather interesting turn.” Even if Varys hadn’t announced his name loudly, Tryion would still know it was him. Littlefinger’s voice was something Tyrion could recognize anywhere.

“Really? How so?”

“Why don’t you ask one of your little birds?” Tyrion could practically hear the sneer in his tone.

“I could do that, but you’re obviously standing in front of me. It would save me some time to just ask you directly.”

A chair scraped over the floor. Tyrion assumed Littlefinger had taken a seat. There was a light tapping. Perhaps Littlefinger drumming his fingers on the table. “Have you heard about Lord Tyrion and Lady Sansa’s escape from King’s Landing?”

“Yes, I did hear something about that actually. Unfortunately, the news did not reach me until recently. Apparently, I left for Pentos the same morning it happened.”

“A fact that some have found curious.”

“And why would that be? I still have many former business partners that I reach out to from time to time and I’ve never been tied down to one particular place.”

“It’s just that your exit was so…abrupt. If it hadn’t been over-shadowed by Tyrion and Sansa’s escape, I’m sure that would be talk of King’s Landing right now.”

“If you have an accusation to make, Lord Baelish, by all means, make your accusation. I’d much prefer it if we were blunt with each other at the moment.”

Littlefinger took a moment to respond. “Did you bring Tyrion and Sansa here—to Pentos?”

“There it is.” Tyrion could practically hear the smirk in Varys’ voice. “I knew you couldn’t have sailed across the Narrow Sea to simply inform me about my so-called ‘suspicious’ exit.”

“I don’t care if you did help them escape. If it wasn’t you, then I’m sure it would’ve been someone else. Lord Tyrion’s pockets have always run deep.”

“And Lady Sansa has more friends than she believes. Isn’t that right, Lord Baelish?”

Tyrion wanted to peek from behind the curtain. See Littlefinger’s reaction. He always hated how much attention the man paid Sansa. It concerned him even more after he learned about his unrequited love towards Catelyn Stark. But his greatest concern was that Sansa most likely trusted him more than her own husband.

“Is she here?”

“Sansa Stark? Why would she be here?”

“If you helped Tyrion escape, then you must’ve helped her escape as well. Where is she?"

“I’m sorry. I truly have no idea.”

Tyrion could hear the frustration growing in Littlefinger. He prayed wherever Sansa was in this palace, she would stay in her room and not come out.

“Keep Lord Tyrion. Take him wherever it is you’re planning on going next. Or turn him lose to this side of the world, allow him to learn what it means to live as a penniless dwarf. But let me have Sansa. I can take care of her."

“Lord Baelish, I’m going to repeat myself. I have no idea where Sansa is.”

Littlefinger huffed. “It seems like we can’t move forward then. You have information you don’t want to share with me and I can’t leave until I receive this information.”

It was quiet. Tyrion knew they were staring each other down, waiting for the other to budge. But it would never be Varys. He wouldn’t never-

“Fine.” Varys spoke, breaking the silence.

Tyrion bit back a cry of indignation. What was Varys doing? Was he really going to admit to Littlefinger, the weasel, that Sansa was here?

“I’ll play along with your little game. Assume I did help the Lord and Lady Lannister escape. What would give you reason to believe that Lord Tyrion would let his wife leave with you?”

Littlefinger scoffed. Tyrion wanted to hit the man.

“Neither of them want to be in that marriage. I can take Sansa back to the North. Where she belongs.”

“But she’s also carrying Tyrion’s heir. She couldn’t just leave her husband while pregnant.”

“There’s always moon tea.”

Tyrion heard the wood creaking from the table as Varys leaned forward on it. “You’re making quite the assumption that Lady Sansa would drink the moon tea in the first place.”

“She will. And she’ll make that decision for herself. Because Sansa knows any child of the imp will come out deformed, hideous, ugly, a monster. Not even her Tully or Stark lineage can save that child growing in her womb from that fate. And you know what else will happen to that child? That child will be the heir to nothing. Tywin Lannister might be dead, but do you honestly think Cersei would let that child claim any of the Lannister lands? And the North won’t have anything to do with the child either because of it’s Lannister blood. That’s speaking kindly, with the hope that the child will not end up looking exactly like its father. Besides, everyone knows the story of what happened to dear Lady Joanna Lannister when she gave birth to Tyrion. If that child is like Tyrion, Sansa will be torn apart from the inside and die.”

Tyrion didn’t want to admit it, but Littlefinger was right. The chances were high of the child being born _just like him_. And if it was and still survived childhood, there would be nothing for him or her. Gods, he hadn’t even given thought to what might happen to Sansa during the childbirth too. She could die.

_The future is shit._

“Very well. You do have a point. And let’s say you tell Sansa all of this and she does drink your moon tea. You wouldn’t take her to the Wall though, would you?”

“No.” Littlefinger paused. “I’d take her back to Winterfell.”

“Winterfell? The Bolton’s have control of that place.”

“Yes, but Ramsay Bolton is in need of a wife. Her marriage with Tyrion can easily be proven illegitimate and she would be free to marry him and become Lady of Winterfell. Exactly what she was born to become.”

Tyrion clenched his fists. Ramsay Bolton? That bastard was a depraved lunatic. He would forego wine for the rest of his life before he saw Sansa married to him.

“Hmm, well, it seems as if you have it all planned out nicely then. It’s a shame that I honestly don’t know where she is.”

“It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Littlefinger scoffed lightly. “Nothing.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “Very well, Varys. But if she is here with you, tell her I came by. Tell her I presented you the opportunity to allow her to return to her real home. The opportunity to have her life back.”

“By marrying her off to another man whose violence has been a widely known rumor?”

Tyrion smirked. It’s not what he would’ve said about Littlefinger’s plan, but it was better than nothing.

“Goodbye Varys.”

Tyrion could hear Littlefinger’s receding steps down the hall. But he didn’t move, waiting until Varys came and opened up the curtain again.

“That bastard,” he growled, once the moment came that he could step out. “How dare he! Does he think he owns her? How can he just-“

“I want to go to Meereen.”

The two men looked up to see Sansa standing behind the table where Varys and Littlefinger had been sitting.

Tyrion reacted first, straightening out his clothes and clearing his throat. “Oh, good. Um, I mean, whatever you decide will be fine.”

Sansa kept her hands clasped in front of her. Her face was blank, but her jaw clenched tightly. Tyrion felt his heart sinking. Had she somehow heard the whole conversation?

“Joffrey was a monster,” Sansa said as she brought her hand to her womb. “This child will _not_ be one. Whether I’m there to ensure it or not.”

She had heard. Everything.

Sansa didn’t give either of them a chance to give her a response. She turned on her heel, with two servant girls following after her.

“She’s stronger than people believe.” Varys broke the silence.

Tyrion let out a deep breath. Yes, especially herself.

* * *

They left the next morning, just before dawn. Sansa made sure she kept her head down and cloak covering as much of her as possible as they climbed into the carriage. She didn’t want any of Lord Baelish’s spies to see her. Because if they did, then he would surely go after them. And he would try to convince her to go with him, spinning beautiful tales of taking her back home. Back to Winterfell.

And even though she knew he would only do it to try and marry her off to another man, a possibly horrible man, she would still be going home. And Sansa wasn’t sure she could refuse that offer when directly presented with it.

The carriage they were in was larger than any she’d ever been in before. But then again, this would also be the longest she would ever have to travel in a carriage. The journey to Meereen would take almost four months. And her and Tyrion were not allowed out of the carriage at all.

Aside from her routine morning sickness, the first week wasn’t terrible. It was much better than being on the boat. And Varys was there as well, providing conversation or companionable silence, whichever she preferred.

Yes, Tyion was there too, but he still had not stopped drinking wine. He was always at the very least tipsy.

Sansa didn’t want to talk to him while he was in that state. But in the small confines of the carriage, they did have to share a few words.

And just days after leaving, Tyrion took a seat next to her. Sansa could smell the wine on him. She continued staring straight ahead, wishing Varys hadn’t fallen asleep on the other end of the carriage.

“Sansa…what Lord Baelish said when he came…”

His words weren’t too terribly slurred. But this was the last thing Sansa wanted to talk to him about.

“There could be a chance…”

Sansa closed her eyes. “I know the dangers of childbirth, Lord Tyrion,” she spoke. “I don’t care to be reminded of them now.”

Tyrion didn’t approach her for the next few days.

After traveling in the carriage for more than a week, the whole journey became very old and tiresome. If Sansa stood, her head would just barely brush the ceiling. She paced the small area often, hand on her stomach and taking deep breaths as she fought of nausea. Varys would talk to her as she paced. Exchanging questions back and forth. Once or twice, Tyrion actually threw in his own few questions.

Sansa would let Varys respond to those questions.

Two months into the journey and Sansa was ready to get out of the carriage. She laid on one the benches in the carriage, her back towards the two men as she pretended to be asleep. But instead, her hand was on her stomach. It had begun to swell. Proof of the child growing within her. She had just noticed it now, lying on her side while leaving Varys and Tyrion to their own conversation.

She wasn’t ready to share this discovery with either them.

“There’s a bug,” Tyrion said softly, believing Sansa was asleep.

“Yes, best be careful. You might accidently consume some solid food.” Varys responded sharply.

Ah yes, something that had become the bane of Varys’ existence since stepping into the carriage with them both. Neither of them had kept up an appetite, nibbling on a few things here and there and then their stomachs proceeding to reject, Tyrion out of his constant drunkenness and Sansa because of the pregnancy.

He always told them both if they just ate a little bit more, this wouldn’t be happening. Neither of them paid any actual attention to him though.

“When I agreed to come with you, did I misrepresent my intentions?” Tyrion downed the rest of the wine in his cup. “Besides, what else is there for me to do inside this fucking box?”

“You don’t like it?”

“I want to take a walk.”

“Your wife takes a walk inside of this fucking box and she requires more space than you. I’m sure you can manage.”

“I want to take a walk _outside_ ,” he growled. “And I’m sure she does too.”

Sansa closed her eyes. Tyrion was right. She did want to go outside. To feel the sun on her. To breathe in fresh air. To look around and not have to see Tyrion sitting on the opposite end of the carriage.

“You can’t. Neither of you can. Cersei has offered a lordship to the man who brings her your head and Lady Sansa alive.”

“She ought to offer her cunt. Best part of her for the best part of me.”

Varys tsked.

“What? She’s asleep.”

“Doesn’t mean you can speak so vulgarly.”

Sansa could hear Tyrion give a loud huff. “Well, I suppose a box is as good a place for me as anywhere.”

“Are we really going to spend the entire road to Volantis talking about the futility of everything?”

Volantis? Sansa’s heart stuttered. Varys had said they were going to Meereen. Had he lied?

“You’re right. No point.” Tyrion paused, then spoke again. “The road to Volantis? You said we were going to Meereen. What’s in Volantis?”

At least he had picked up on that as well.

“The road to Meereen.”

“And what do you hope to find at the end of the road to Meereen?”

“I told you. A ruler.”

“We’ve already got a ruler. Everywhere has already got a ruler. Every pile of shit on the side of every road has someone’s banner hanging from it.”

Sansa opened her eyes. She felt something wet between her legs. There was the normal dull ache from her lower back that she seemed to always feel, but this sensation was new.

“You were quite good, you know, at ruling. During your brief tenure as Hand.” Varys responded to Tyrion, taking no note of Sansa.

And why should they? Sansa still hadn’t moved, even though she felt a horrible pit growing in her stomach.

“I didn’t rule. I was a servant.”

“Still, a man of talent.”

Sansa finally began shifting slightly. The two men didn’t notice though. They were at the other end of the carriage engrossed in their conversation.

“Managed to kill a lot of people.”

“Yes, but you showed great promise in other areas as well.”

Sansa sat up and looked down.

Blood was staining her dress.

A small cry from her finally placed all the attention on her.

“Sansa? Sansa, what’s happened? What…are you…?” Tyrion was the first to reach her. And he grabbed her hand. The first physical contact he made with her since before they entered the carriage.

Varys was pounding on the carriage door, signaling for them to stop. “Are you in any pain?” he quickly asked her, eyes going from the blood to her face.

But Sansa couldn’t answer. She just kept staring at the blood, knowing it wasn’t supposed to be there.

“The midwife! Didn’t you bring a midwife with us?” Tyrion snapped at Varys.

“Yes! She’s coming.” Varys stuck his head out the door of the carriage. “She’s getting off her horse right now.”

Staring at the blood, Sansa felt an odd numbness spread over her. She wasn’t supposed to bleed like this while pregnant. If there was this much blood, then something was horribly wrong.

But she didn’t feel sad or afraid.

She only felt numb.

And as the midwife stepped into the carriage and shooed Tyrion and Varys aside, Sansa felt her eyes roll back and her body go limp.


	9. The Movement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So who's a ridiculous person and decided that she can handle three wip's...?? Sorry about the delay my lovelies! I had the beginning and I had the end for this chapter, but then my brain decided to not work while trying to come up with the middle. Here it finally is though! I think you dears are really going to like this chapter! Let me know what you think and I'll do my best to try and get the next chapter out really soon! 💕💕💕

“So it’s dangerous if we stay and dangerous if we go. Well, we’re fucked aren’t we?”

“There’s always a solution. Perhaps in a few days time-“

“You heard the midwife. Sansa _can’t_ travel for at _least_ a month.”

Their hushed words made it to Sansa’s ears. For a moment, she thought it was part of her dream. But she couldn’t remember what her dream was.

Her eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the dim lighting. They were in a room now. Not the carriage. The only light came from a fire dying at the other end of the room. Tyrion and Varys were sitting beside it, neither making a move to keep the fire going.

How long had she been asleep?

Sansa closed her eyes, remembering what happened just before passing out. Blood pooling between her legs, soaking her dress, numbness spreading through her as the only explanation as to why she was bleeding came to mind.

Miscarriage.

After everything…a miscarriage?

“…athe. Please, Sansa. You have to breathe. Everything’s all right.”

She looked up to see Tyrion beside her. When had he come towards her? He had her hand clasped between both of his, whispering for her to just breathe.

In the back of her mind, she registered the fact that this was the first time Tyrion had touched her in months.

And then she heard someone gasping for air.

That was her, wasn’t it?

“Sansa, breathe. Breathe with me. In and out, nice and slow.”

Sansa held his gaze. And her breathing began to even out. In. Out. In. Out.

Tyrion smiled, then pulled his hands away.

Tears welled up in Sansa’s eyes. She was afraid to ask. She feared she already knew the answer.

“The midwife says you need bedrest for a least a month and preferable for the rest of your pregnancy,” Varys said, pulling up his stool to join Tyrion.

Sansa blinked. The rest of her pregnancy?

She looked to Tyrion. He was still smiling. Her hand wandered to her stomach. There was still that small swell.

Tyrion nodded. “Apparently, there are cases where the mother begins bleeding without any kind of pain. The midwife confirmed that there wasn’t a miscarriage, but you are going to need bedrest.”

The words Sansa heard when she woke up made more sense.

They were going to have to stay here. For a month at the very least. And the midwife would rather she stay for the remainder of the pregnancy.

And if they did that, Sansa knew that someone would find out. A maid or a cook or someone would betray them for the right amount of gold. Word was going to get out. Cersei was going to find out where they were and send her men after them or even bring them back to King’s Landing herself. Maybe she would kill them both. Or maybe she would only kill Tyrion and keep Sansa alive long enough to see how Lannister blood would corrupter her child.

Erasing every bit of Stark that might already be within the child.

“We can’t stay here,” Sansa finally spoke.

“No, we can’t,” Varys agrees. “But we can’t leave either, can we?”

Sansa shook her head. “No, we _have_ to leave. We have to-“

“ _You_ have to rest.” Tyrion was pushing her shoulder back.

Sansa hadn’t even realized she had started sitting up until his hand was on her again.

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure I’ve got my little birds circling this place. Not even a delivery of grain will come in without my knowing,” Varys said, offering a smile of his own.

The quick look Tyrion gave Varys didn’t go unnoticed by Sansa.

Varys could keep his eyes on everyone in this place, but word could still get out.

Because how did Lord Baelish know they were in Pentos?

If Sansa was honest with herself, that question had swirled in her mind since leaving. And sometimes, she wondered if Lord Baelish was still right behind them, biding his time for the perfect moment.

And if they stayed here long enough, surely he would use this as his opportunity to act.

“It’s been a while since you’ve eaten anything, my dear,” Varys said as he stood. “The midwife gave strict instruction that you must eat more than you have been. I’ll go down to the kitchens and see if they can provide anything edible for you.”

“Bring more wine too.” Tyrion stepped back from Sansa’s side, his eyes wandering back to the fire.

Sansa didn’t bother hiding her huff. Varys looked at her with pursed lips, while Tyrion clenched and unclenched his fists, pointedly avoiding her gaze.

“If that’s what you wish, Lord Tyrion.” Varys gave a small bow and Sansa almost thought it was done mockingly.

Tyrion seemed to have thought the same, considering the sharp look he shot at Varys’ retreating form.

“Do you think Lord Baelish was following us?” Sansa asked as soon as the door was closed. Because if she waited too long, Tyrion would’ve gone back to sit by the fire and she didn’t know if she had enough strength in her to call out across the room.

Tyrion paused in his walk, half turning to look at her. “I have considered the possibility.”

“But has he?” She pressed. That wasn’t an answer to her question.

Tyrion rubbed his face, scratching at his beard. Sansa wished he would give it another trim. Perhaps not cut off it completely, just…even it out. “As far as I know, he hasn’t.”

“If we stay here though…”

“He might very well find us again.”

Even though his last words were barely above a whisper, Sansa could still hear them over the crackling fire.

Sansa tried to consider all options. But she could only come up with two options.

And only one of those options meant they all possibly survived.

Tyrion had walked back to his stool by the time Sansa spoke again. She tried her best to speak loudly enough. “You have to leave.”

Judging by the way his head snapped to her, Sansa guessed her words reached his ears.

“Sansa-“

Varys came back in the room. “Stale bread and cold chicken. At least I found a gold platter for you to eat from,” Varys said as he gave Sansa a kind smile. “And your wine.” He barely glanced at Tyrion as he handed him the bottle of wine.

Sansa watched her husband. Her drunk imp of a husband. He wouldn’t even look at her, staring at the bottle of wine, before uncorking it and drinking directly from the bottle.

If he couldn’t look at her and had to make sure he was always drunk, then it would just be better if he left her. Sansa didn’t care. She was giving him this chance to leave her, to make a new life for himself elsewhere. To separate himself from the pregnant wife he never officially bed.

Even if that meant she ended up having to go to Lord Baelish.

So why didn’t he jump at the opportunity?

* * *

Sansa slept fitfully that night. Her dreams were filled with visions of baby covered in blood and Lord Baelish and a headless Tyrion running around with a flagon of wine.

When she woke in the morning, Tyrion was speaking to the midwife. She seemed to be giving him strict instructions and he listened intently to every word.

“Do you understand what I’m telling you?” the midwife asked, placing her hands on her hips and staring down at Tyrion.

Tyrion lifted his chin, his own stare turning indignant. “I’m an imp. Not a half-wit.”

“You’re a man. And that automatically makes you a half-wit.”

Tyrion began spluttering out different reasons why this was not true.

She cut him off. “I can tell you the exact reason why your wife is now bedridden for the remainder of her pregnancy.” She leaned down. “Because of you and the ever-present smell of wine.”

Tyrion seemed to be biting the inside of his cheek. That had to be the only way he kept himself from responding.

The midwife straightened. “Now, what were my instructions to you?”

“Do not add extra stress,” he ground out.

She nodded in approval and left the room.

They hadn’t taken notice that Sansa was awake.

Once the door closed, Tyrion stalked over to the window. The shutters were only partially open, allowing fresh air in, but blocking anyone outside from looking in.

The shadows from the shutters played across his face and the small sun rays highlighted his skin. His scar became accentuated with both the shadows and light.

A warrior’s reward.

He always believed it made him hideous. _At least I look like the monster everyone thinks I am now._ Sansa remembered him saying that more than just a few times. Usually after a few glasses of wine.

Their child wouldn’t see him as a monster. Sansa would make sure Tyion could prove that to the child at least.

That is, if she carried the child for the whole nine months.

And if Tyrion didn’t take his chance and leave.

And if they weren’t somehow caught and killed.

Sansa swallowed hard. There seemed to be a whole lot of ‘if’s’ in their current situation.

Then Tyrion suddenly backed away and shook his head. “I need wine,” he grumbled to himself, looking down as he walked towards the door.

Just as he reached it, he looked up at Sansa.

“Oh.” He stopped, hand lowering away from the door. “You’re awake.”

Sansa just shifted in response, looking down at her hands.

Tyrion took a few steps forward. Then stopped. Then took one step back. “How are you feeling?”

Sansa shrugged. “Fine, I suppose.” She was going to get asked this question a lot in the coming months, wasn’t she?

“You just missed the midwife. She was here, just…giving me some instruction and further explanation about your…condition.”

Sansa bit her tongue, almost saying that she already knew. Instead, she gave a small hum.

Tyrion let out a short breath. “I was just on my way to the kitchen. Would you like me to grab you anything?”

“Won’t you be recognized?”

Tyrion gave a wry smile. “Apparently, if I only keep my head down, I can pass as any old drunk dwarf.”

Sansa smoothed down the blankets on her lap.

“You know,” Tyrion took a step forward. “You really should eat something. You didn’t finish your last meal and the midwife did say-“

“She said to stop adding stress.” Sansa snapped her head up to finally look at him again.

Tyrion’s eyes widened. “You were awake,” he said quietly in response.

Sansa didn’t look away as she nodded.

“I…” Tyrion looked down and shook his head.

Sansa didn’t try to stop the scoff that escaped her lips. Here he was, the man always so quick to reply because his wit was just that great, left without words when confronted with the pregnant wife he hadn’t even bed.

He closed his eyes and Sansa knew what would happen next.

He was finally going to leave. Because he didn’t understand how to stop adding stress to her life and he assumed the only way to stop was to simply walk away. Leave her behind, just like she had told him to the night before.

And now that it was suddenly becoming a reality, the fact that Tyrion might leave, Sansa found she didn't want him to leave her. Because then what would the child think?

“It would help if you weren’t drunk all the time.” The words fell quietly from her lips.

Tyrion looked up again. “But there’s many more things that is making this whole situation stressful for you, isn’t there?”

“Yes. But that’s the one thing that at least you have control over. And the midwife did say for you to stop adding stress to me.”

Tyrion took a moment to think, then let out a deep breath and stood straighter. “Very well. I’m going to the kitchens for some bread and water for us to share. Yes?”

Sansa’s mouth turned up just the tiniest bit. “Thank you.”

* * *

Tyrion never promised that he wouldn’t get drunk ever again. But that day, he didn’t have one sip of wine. Or the next the day. Or the day after that.

He would sit with her and while they wouldn’t necessarily talk, he did start reading to her. Somehow, Varys was able to get his hands on several history books and gave them to Tyrion.

“He needs something to do,” Varys said one evening as he and Sansa shared a meal while Tyrion slept. “I’m not excusing his behavior at all, but the wine dulls his mind from thinking too much.”

“And does my mind not think too much?” Sansa asked bitterly. “Haven’t we lived through the same ordeals?”

“Yes, but perhaps that means you have more strength than he does. Have you considered that?”

Sansa looked down, her swelling stomach becoming more obvious. And she remembered something her mother would always tell her.

_Becoming a mother gives you a strength you never knew you had in you. And you become fierce, doing everything in your power to protect your children_.

Perhaps Varys had a point.

And the following day, when Tyrion brought her lunch, she could smell wine on him again.

But he wasn’t drunk.

“I, um…” Tyrion avoided her eyes, trying to explain away why he smelled like wine.

Sansa took the bowl of vegetable broth and bread. “Are you going to continue reading the history of the Targareyn’s?”

He looked up and smiled briefly. Then he cleared his throat and found the place where he had left off.

He still drank. Sansa didn’t think he would ever be able to give up wine completely. But he was never drunk.

Not anymore.

And Sansa found herself enjoying his company more.

Some evenings, after a few sips of wine and then not touching the flask again, Tyrion would insist on playing a game. Varys would roll his eyes and say he did not want to take part in any such game that Tyrion invented.

“But what other game is there that would be worth playing?” Tyrion asked, an affronted expression on his face.

That was the closest to laughing Sansa had come to in what felt like years.

A month after pure bedrest, the midwife finally allowed Sansa to at least walk around the room.

Every day after that, Sansa was on her feet for as long as the midwife allowed, relishing in the ability to walk again.

If only she could go outside.

“I can bring more of the paste for your hair,” Varys said. “Walk to and from the stables. There’s not too many people who walk there.”

“The stables? Gods, Varys, do you want her to begin vomiting all over again?”

Sansa declined the offer. She didn’t want to see her hair black ever again.

“Have you felt the child move yet?” the midwife asked a week after allowing Sansa to walk around.

Sansa shook her head, her heart beginning to tighten.

She frowned, gently pressing down on Sansa’s womb. “Well, the child’s obviously still growing. Perhaps it’s nothing to worry about.”

And that statement did nothing to ease her worries.

After that visit, Sansa’s hand was almost always on her growing stomach. Gently pressing and prodding, praying to the gods for some kind of movement. Some kind of sign that everything was all right. That this time they spent stuck in this inn was not in vain.

Two weeks later, as she paced the length of the room while Tyrion read the history of the Baratheon family, Sansa stopped and gasped, pressing a hand to her stomach.

“What is it?” Tyrion asked, eyes wide as he dropped the book and hurried to her. “Do you need to sit? Is everything all right?”

Instead of responding, Sansa grabbed his hand and placed it right where she had just moved her own.

It was the first time he had actually touched her womb.

He stared at the spot where she held his hand. “Is that…?”

It felt like a strong twitch inside of her, but Sansa knew what it was. She nodded, feeling breathless and tears gathering in her eyes.

Tyrion’s face broke into a wide grin. “Hello in there,” he whispered.

Varys was incredibly upset he missed the baby’s first movement. “And here I was thinking I could train this child to become one of my little birds too.”

Sansa’s stomach continued growing and growing and she felt the baby moving even more. And for some reason, the baby decided that it would move the most at night when Sansa was trying to sleep. Sansa was exhausted and asked the midwife how much longer.

“I would say no more than two months.” The woman patted Sansa’s stomach affectionately. “And you haven’t had any issues since stopping, so I would say it’s safe for you to travel again.”

When Tyrion and Varys found out, they immediately made plans to continue on their journey.

They left her for a day, gathering all the supplies they would need. They said not to expect them back until after dark.

So when the door opened just after midday, Sansa was surprised. She turned from the window where she was standing. “Have you finished already?”

But then her heart stopped and she wrapped her arms around her womb, as if to guard it from the unexpected guest.

“Lord Baelish,” Sansa swallowed hard and lowered her head. “What a surprise.”


	10. The Accident

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while...😅 Not going to lie, I did have trouble with this chapter and was actually kind of afraid to write it and I really hope no one's too ooc in this...but after going back and forth, I knew it had to go this way and well...hope you lovelies enjoy it! Let me know what you think! And, as always, thank you so much for your kind comments and kudos!!! I promise, this fic will not be abandoned, even if I might take a bit longer than normal to update. I've got it all outlined out and about half of the ending written out too, so yeah. I really like writing this story.
> 
> Anyways! Enjoy this next chapter!

“My dear,” Petyr said, moving towards her as if to embrace her, but then stopped in the middle of the room. Sansa had looked up and sent him a sharp look that caused him to pause. “You’ve changed quite a bit since I last saw you in King’s Landing.” His eyes raked over her body, lingering on her swollen stomach, but also on the skin that her dress left exposed.

She had grown accustomed to the feeling of not having every inch of her body covered and it was so much warmer here than anywhere Sansa had ever been. But with Petyr’s eyes on her, Sansa suddenly wished she had a cloak or a shawl to throw over her shoulders.

She cleared her throat. “I would hope so. I am with child now.” Her hands covered her stomach and she held back a small wince as she felt the child give a particular strong kick in her womb.

Something between a smile and a sneer covered Lord Baelish’s face. “Yes, so you are.” He clasped his hands behind his back and looked down at the ground. “You are a brave child. I…admire you. Still clinging to your dignity while facing this adversity.”

Out of habit, Sansa lifted her chin when he called her a child. She wasn't a child anymore. She had her childhood taken away the moment she left Winterfell. The rest of his words were a sickly sweet that would turn her stomach if she had even listened to them. “What are you doing here?”

Lord Baelish looked up, slowly approaching her again, but this time at an angle, making it seem as if he was only going to pace the room.

Sansa knew exactly what he was doing though and moved away again.

He paused again at her movement. “I came to offer you a better life. Away from the imp and the spider.” He spread out his hands, as if presenting her a blessed offering.

And she supposed he was. At least in his mind, he was.

Sansa kept her hand over her stomach, feeling the baby pressing against her hand as it squirmed even more in her womb. “I would not have my child growing up without knowing their father.”

Petyr lowered his hands, running his tongue along his teeth. “I understand you would want the child to have a traditional upbringing as much as possible, but this is about _your_ safety.”

“No one knows where we are.” Sansa clenched her jaw as she gave him a hard stare. “Unless you have decided to tell them.”

Petyr quickly shook his head. “Why would I do that? Place your safety in risk? No, my dear. I would not tell anyone until I was assured you were safely away from these two.” Then he pursed his lips, making a show of being deep in thought. “However, if I found you so easily, how long do you think it’ll be before Cersei’s men are after you?”

He had a point. And she hated him for it.

“Come away with me. Cersei has been looking for _Tyrion_. You’ve fallen out of her thoughts.” Petyr walked closer.

Sansa backed away again until she was pressed against the nightstand. If he advanced anymore, she wouldn’t have anywhere to go. “No, that’s not Cersei. She would never just let me go. Especially now that…” Her eyes wandered down to her stomach. Especially now that there was a Lannister in her womb.

Again, Petyr took a few more steps towards her. If he reached out, he could grab her hands. “The child isn’t born yet.”

Sansa’s head snapped up to look at him. She felt bile growing in her throat and the baby suddenly stilled. “What do you mean?”

“There are still…ways to ensure the child isn’t born. All for your safety. You can be free. The only reason why Cersei wants you now is _because_ of this child. Without this Lannister child, her interest in wanting to find you will fade and-“

“No, I…” Sansa shook her head, feeling her breath beginning to come in quick spurts. This was exactly what he had suggested to Tyrion when he spoke to Varys in Pentos, claiming that the only way for Sansa to have true freedom was to get rid of this child.

And maybe that was true, but couldn’t she find a new kind of freedom as this child’s mother?

“Sansa, _please_. What would your mother think?”

Sansa felt cold spread through her veins. What would her mother think? Running away like a thief in the night, her only companions Varys, the eunuch who knew too many secrets and manipulated even great kings, and the imp, a drunk womanizer that barely came to half her height.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

She didn’t want to consider what her mother would think of her situation.

“Sansa…it’s all right. I will fix this.”

Petyr approached her even more as she kept her eyes closed. Sansa could almost feel his breath.

“You will not have to worry about this. It will be as if you were never expecting or married to the imp. You will start a new life with a new name. All of this will be behind you.”

Sansa could hear him take a deep breath. He grabbed her hands, but Sansa still kept her eyes tightly shut. “You will marry Ramsay Bolton and go back under the protection of Winterfell.”

At that, Sansa’s eyes flew open. She remembered his conversation with Varys all that time ago. And Varys was right. How dare he try and take her from one marriage to another? She wouldn’t be returning to Winterfell.

She would only be entering a new hell with Ramsay Bolton.

She opened her eyes and took her hands out of his grasp. “I will not marry Ramsay Bolton,” she spoke through clenched teeth. “I will not leave _my husband_ nor will I end this pregnancy.

Petyr shook his head. “You don’t understand what you’re asking for, the kind of life that awaits you if you stay in this situation.”

“It is better than being trapped with a man who has taken over my family home!” She moved to step away from him.

But he reached out and roughly grabbed her arm, holding her in place. “Sansa! I will not argue with you on this. I am only trying to protect you and honor your mother’s memory!”

“Don’t touch me!’ Sansa exclaimed. She had gone so long without feeling the touch of another person, aside from the midwife, the occasional brush from Varys as he passed her food, and Tyrion’s hand on her stomach as their child moved.

But there had always been something about Lord Baelish’s touch that made her uneasy. It always left her with chills and the slight feeling of bile bubbling in the bottom of her throat.

His fingers were digging into the bare skin of her arms and he pulled her close. “I will not leave you here, Sansa. Can’t you understand that?” He spoke through clenched teeth.

Sansa’s heart was beating erratically. She felt the light flutter in her womb from the baby before it went still. “No, I’m not going anywhere with you. I don’t want to.” She hated that tears were beginning to build in her eyes.

Petyr gave a cruel laugh. “You don’t know what you want. You’re just a _child_.” He roughly pulled on her arm and brought her closer to him. “I have lost my patience with you! Don’t you understand how long I have been searching for you? And then finally realizing where you were and trying to find the _perfect_ moment to take you away from these terrible circumstances? I will not let you slip away from me again!”

And Sansa felt as if she couldn’t breathe. Blindly, she reached for something, _anything_ , that might help her release his grip on her.

Her fingers wrapped around cool metal. A candelabra.

She only meant to hit him once, make him release her and move far away enough from him to get to the door. Call out for help and tell him she would never go with him and that she never wanted to see him again.

That was what she meant to do.

But when she brought the metal up, she didn’t realize how hard she had brought it down on his head.

He didn’t release his grip on her. His forehead began bleeding and he was staring at her in shock. He swayed a little, but still did not let go.

She brought the candelabra down on his head again.

He let go of her, his eyes rolling back and his body slumping to the ground.

Sansa dropped the candelabra, almost hitting him on the head again when it landed. Her breaths came in quick spurts, her hands shaking as she slowly brought them to her mouth.

There was so much blood now. All coming from his head.

What had she done?

She waited for him to move. For him to get up, yelling at her, calling her a stupid girl, dragging her out of the room to supposedly save her but only taking her to another terrible fate.

He didn’t move.

She wasn’t sure how long she waited. But he hadn’t moved yet and Tyrion and Varys still weren’t back.

And Sansa couldn’t risk it. What if he did wake up? What would he do to her then? She didn’t think he would be quite forgiving.

For the first time since arriving at the inn, Sansa stepped outside of the room.

* * *

Tyrion always welcomed the opportunities that came his way to leave that small room. Stretch his legs, breathe in fresh air, feel his body soaking up the sun’s rays.

Of course, this was always accompanied with a small trace of guilt at knowing Sansa hadn’t left the room in months now. And considering the carriage ride before too, it had been a very long time since Sansa had this kind of freedom.

But they were finally leaving tomorrow. They were one day closer to experiencing _true_ freedom.

Well, he would. But would she consider it true freedom? Having to stay with him and give birth to a child that hadn’t even been conceived naturally because she wasn’t and would probably never be ready to have those kind of relations with her husband?

He shook those thoughts from his mind. He already had enough to worry about.

And Varys made sure to constantly tell him to _stop_ worrying.

“You’ve been fine every other time we’ve left the inn. Why are you so paranoid now?” Varys asked, looking down at him as they walked.

Tyrion looked up with a slight glare. “Because, it’s…” He gave a small huff. “If anything were to happen, it would happen now.”

“Why? We’ve been here for months now. _No one_ knows where we are and even if someone did finally figure it out, it would be too late because we’re leaving tomorrow.”

Tyrion rolled his eyes. “I know,” he said through gritted teeth. “But what about Littlefinger? What if he’s close? Or worse, what if he’s already figured out where we are and what our next move is? You know as well as I do that that worm won’t stop until he has Sansa by his side. He’s…” Tyrion involuntarily shivered, knowing the feelings Littlefinger had for Catlyn Stark and the way he would look as Sansa… “I’m afraid he might manipulate her if he finds her, convincing her to leave with him.”

Varys scoffed. “Are you doubting your wife? Do you not recall that she heard the entire conversation back in Pentos? She was determined to come with us then. What makes you think she’ll change her mind if she speaks with Lord Baelish?”

Tyrion didn’t answer, keeping his jaw clenched shut as he kicked at a rock on the path.

Varys gave a small hum. “Ah, I see.”

“What?” Tyrion growled.

Varys shrugged, clasping his hands behind his back. “You’re afraid she’ll chose something more familiar, an old family friend and her _home_ over you.”

Tyrion twisted his neck, “You are putting words in my mouth.”

“But you don’t deny it?”

Tyrion spluttered. “No, of course I deny it! I…she deserves the best and…”

“And you know that the best would be for her to go back to her home. Or better yet, to the Wall, with her bastard brother.”

“Yes, I believe you’ve proven your point. I am not good enough-“

“Oh no, I’m not finished. But you are right in that you aren’t good enough. Yet, you’ve grown accustomed to her companionship. You don’t want to lose that.”

“But I’ll always have you, old friend,” Tyrion deadpanned, finally looking up at him. But he didn’t deny anything Varys said.

Varys smirked. “Yes, but I’m not the kind of companion you’re looking for.”

Tyrion rolled his eyes. “I don’t know what it is that you’re trying to convince me of or maybe trying to get me to admit. But it’s useless at this point. So you can put an end to this.”

“Very well, but it seems you already know what it is you need to admit.”

Tyrion pursed his lips but said nothing more.

They walked the rest of the way in silence,

It was dark by the time they arrived, the inn bustling with activity as local patrons and other travelers were on the main floor, enjoying dinner, a few drunken men sharing their loud stories, a kitchen maid refilling mugs of ale or bringing out plates of food and bringing empty ones back.

Varys and Tyrion walked in and climbed up the stairs without any of the crowd noticing.

But just a few steps away, Tyrion saw that the door to their room was slightly ajar.

His heart dropped to his feet as he ran the rest of the way. He pushed open the door and searched the room.

It was empty.

He swallowed hard. “Sansa?”

But there was no response of course because the room was empty.

She was gone. She had left.

Of course she had left. The midwife said it was safe for her to travel again. She must’ve finally decided enough was enough. She would attempt to make her own life, change her name, perhaps find work at an inn like this.

“Oh…”

Tyrion had only taken a few steps in. But Varys had gone all the way in and was looking down at something on the other side of the bed, out of sight from where Tyrion stood.

“What is it?” Tyrion asked, automatically thinking the worse. Cersei’s men had finally found them. They had killed Sansa.

When he hurried to where Varys stood, he saw it wasn’t Sansa.

In fact, it wasn’t even close to what Tyrion had even imagine.

It was Petyr Baelish, lying on the ground with a puddle of blood pooled around his head. A candelabra had been dropped to the ground beside him, a small amount of blood splattered on it as well.

So he did find them. But what had happened? Tyrion couldn’t even begin to piece together what might have happened or where Sansa could’ve gone.

Varys pressed a hand to Littlefinger’s neck. His face became grave as he pulled his hand back and looked to Tyrion. “He’s dead.”

Tyrion let out a shaky breath. “Sansa…she’s…” Tyrion didn’t even know what to say.

“We can’t stay any longer. We have to leave now.” Varys said as he stepped away from Littlefinger’s body.

“But…” Tyrion looked away from the body to Varys, then searched the room again. “We _can’t_ leave her-“

“We have no idea where she is. And if Littlefinger was here, then that does mean his men are close by. I’m sure they are going to come around by sunrise. If we stay, they’ll kill us, but won’t follow us if we leave now. They might’ve been loyal to him, but now he’s dead. That loyalty will die with him as well.”

Tyrion shook his head. “ _No_. I will not leave her behind! Not after we've come this far! And not in her state!”

“I do not like this anymore than you do, but there’s nothing-“

“Where have you two been?!”

The two men turned to see the midwife standing in the doorway.

Tyrion opened his mouth to say something, but his mind was blank.

“We went to gather some supplies for tomorrow,” Varys spoke up.

She glared at them both before raising a hand to point at Tyrion. “I told you no extra stress, didn’t I?”

Tyrion frowned. What was she talking about? “I, um…"

“She was _terrified_! Thank the Seven I was on my way to check up on her before tomorrow.” She shook her head as she crossed her arms. “Who knows where she would’ve run off to if I hadn’t been coming down the road at the same time."

“You know where she is?” Tyrion asked, trying not to get his hopes up.

“She’s in the kitchen.”

Tyrion didn’t wait for her to say more. He rushed out of the room, heading directly for the kitchen. He left Varys behind to deal with the midwife.

Kitchen maids were scurrying about as the cook yelled out orders and criticized everything the women around her did. Then she saw Tyrion and began yelling at him, that he wasn’t allowed in there and to get out before she cut off his hand and boiled it with the potatoes.

But Tyrion didn’t pay attention to her empty threats. Because Sansa was sitting in the corner, head resting against the wall. Her eyes were open, bloodshot and swollen from crying, but she was staring at nothing. One of her hands gently ran up and down her womb.

Tyrion ran to her, dodging maids and avoiding the cook completely. Then he knelt down in front of her and grabbed her hands carefully. “Sansa?”

She slowly dragged her eyes towards him, blinked for a few moments, then seemed to finally register that he was kneeling in front of her. “Tyrion?”

He nodded. “Are you all right?” He asked around the lump in his throat.

She surprised him by throwing her arms around him, sliding off the stool she was sitting on. She buried her face into his shoulder, her body shaking with sobs. “I-I…he was…I’m so sorry! I’m so…so sorry.”

Tyrion rubbed her back and hushed her softly. “It’s all right. I know. I understand.”

But still, she did not let go of him. If anything, she tightened her grip on him.

And after a while, he pulled back, cupping her face in his hands. “Sansa, we have to leave. We can’t stay any longer.”

Sansa nodded, wiping her face with the back of her hand. “I wasn’t…wasn’t going to leave…with him,” she hiccoughed out. “I promise, I-“

“Shh,” Tyrion dropped his hands from her face to her hands again. “You don’t have to talk about it. Come on. It’s time for us to go.”

They stood and walked out of the kitchen, Tyrion avoiding the glare of the cook who had stopped hurling threats at him as soon as she realized he came for Sansa.

Varys and the midwife were outside waiting for them. It had become even later by the time Tyrion had pulled Sansa out of the kitchen. But it was fine, considering it gave Varys enough time to have the carriage brought around immediately instead of first thing in the morning.

Both Tyrion and Sansa went into the carriage. He helped her lay down on one end and as soon as she was settled, he moved to walk to the other end.

But she stopped him, reaching out and grabbing his arm. “Wait…”

And Tyrion paused to look at her. Her face was still red from the crying. In fact, she hadn’t stopped crying yet. It looked as if she was struggling ask the question that rested on the tip of her tongue.

Tyrion understood what she wanted though. He moved to sit beside her and as soon as he did, she moved to rest her head on his lap.

He hoped his sharp exhale wasn’t as loud as he thought.

Sansa didn’t seem to notice though. Because as soon as the carriage began moving, her breaths had slowed as she slept.

After he was sure she wouldn’t wake for a while, Tyrion placed one hand on her womb, feeling the slight twitch of their child moving. He closed his eyes and prayed for a dreamless sleep.


	11. The Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm feeling really good about this chapter! This one just flowed so easily! And I'm happy with how it came out too. I'm excited to write the next chapter too, but not going to lie...I'm just a tad bit nervous about it...but either way, I hope you lovelies enjoy this update and the next one too when it comes!
> 
> And thank you all so much for your kind words for the last chapter! Seriously, each one made my day and I am just so glad you all enjoyed it!! I'd love to hear what you think about this new chapter! 💕💕

As they continued their journey, Sansa had barely said a word.

It reminded Tyrion of the first few months after Joffrey’s death.

Even though it hadn’t been a year, that still felt like ages ago. Because throughout all that time, they had both grown so much.

And had grown closer even, if Tyrion was being optimistic.

Now that she was refusing to speak again, it hurt Tyrion more than he thought it would.

Of course, she would still reach for him, holding his arms to stop him from leaving her side before drifting off to sleep. Resting her head in his lap and allowing him to run his fingers through her hair.

But it was her lack of words that worried him.

“She did kill a man,” Varys said quietly one evening when they were both sure Sansa couldn’t hear them.

Tyrion didn’t look up at him, He just crossed his arms and looked pensively at his wife.

“An old friend of her mother’s too. Someone her mother, and even her at one point, trusted. Terrible choice, really. But it doesn’t change that fact.”

Tyrion huffed a little, still not responding to Varys.

Varys gave an exaggerated sigh. “And now you’re upset with me and refuse to speak with me. True or not true?”

Tyrion titled his head slightly, clenching his jaw in the process. “I don’t know, Varys. Can you possibly give me one good reason why I would be upset with you.”

“Oh, don’t be petty.”

“You wanted to leave her behind,” Tyrion hissed, his voice so low Varys had to lean forward to hear.

“But you insisted that you wouldn’t leave her.”

Tyrion narrowed his eyes. “Are you trying to say that you said that to only prove a point? Very well, point proven. I _don’t_ want to continue this journey without her. But I know you, Varys. You were not simply saying that to prove a point.”

Varys looked away. “No, you’re right.“ And for a moment, he actually looked regretful. “I have grown to enjoy her company as well, but I’ve always considered the fact that perhaps she doesn’t enjoy ours.”

Tyrion frowned, looking at her. Of course, he had thought of that, but…he hadn’t wanted to believe it to be true.

“I would’ve ensured several of my little birds stay behind and find her. Make sure she was fine.”

Tyrion swallowed hard. “Do you think she could’ve done it?”

“Done what?’

“Make a life for herself without us. Away from all of this.”

“She’s already proven herself resilient and quick on her feet. I believe she can make it through any situation.”

But she had killed a man. And Tyrion worried her mind might not be able to make it through that.

* * *

Sansa was tired. She felt as if she should have all this energy to get up and walk and talk and even hold up a pillow to attempt to embroider something to at least keep her hands occupied.

But she could barely manage sitting up to eat.

What had she been doing these last few months? _Nothing!_ Absolutely nothing that could drain her this much.

“It’s because of the little one growing in you. They tend to take much from their mothers,” the midwife that accompanied them reminded her.

And Sansa knew that wasn’t the only thing wrong.

Because even a little more than two months after they started their journey for Meereen again, Sansa would still dream of what happened that last afternoon there.

The surprising strength in her arms as she brought down the candelabra. His fingers digging into her arms. Yelling in her face. His face going slack and dropping to the ground. The blood. _The blood_.

More than once, Tyrion would shake her awake and she would be gasping for air. She would’ve shot up to a sitting position if it wasn’t for her swelling stomach.

Sometimes, she wanted to ask him how he did it. He killed his father and a…

And a lover.

How did he live with himself after that?

“That night we fled King’s Landing,” Tyrion started softly. As if he knew this was what she needed to hear.

Sansa didn’t turn to look at him, but she did adjust herself to rest her head more comfortably in his lap while he ran his fingers through her hair.

“My father, I…I always craved his approval. As all children do I suppose, no matter how much they might hate their children. And he hated me. Gods, he…” Tyrion swallowed hard as he pulled his hands away from her hair to scrub at his face. “But Sha…”

Sansa closed her eyes, realizing Tyrion couldn’t even bring himself to say her name.

Tyrion cleared his throat. “I might have loved her at one point.” He let out a harsh breath. “But they were both self-serving individuals and…they hurt the people around them to continue their ascent to greatness.” He resumed stroking her hair gently. “Lord Baelish was much the same. He was just better at hiding it.”

“Are you trying to say it’s okay that I…” Sansa couldn’t bring herself to even finish her whispered words.

“Yes. Because if it wasn’t you, it would have been someone else. And as much as I don’t believe that justice exists anymore…perhaps it does in this situation.”

A shaky breath escaped Sansa’s lips. She suddenly didn’t feel well, a sharp clenching in her stomach. She wasn’t sure if it was because of Tyrion’s words or something else.

The carriage slowed to a stop and Varys came back in. He sat down, knocking on the front end of the carriage and they began moving again.

Sansa sat up, hoping that might ease the pain.

It didn’t.

But she made no sound or gave any indication of what she was feeling.

“We will reach the Bridge of Volantis by tomorrow evening. We’ll stop there for a few nights, restock on our supplies. Before you know it, we’ll be in Meereen,” Varys said, turning to face them.

Sansa swallowed hard. And she knew that by the time they made it to Meereen, they would be traveling with an infant.

If everything continued going well…as well as could be expected at least.

* * *

Perhaps an hour after Varys came back into the carriage, Sansa got up and began pacing the small area.

Tyrion watched her, noticing how pale she had become. Had it been because of their conversation? Had it disturbed her that much.

He was only trying to comfort her. Two months and it felt as if she had spoken less than a hundred words. What was it that everyone said? Woman always had so much more to say than men?

This was obviously not the case with Sansa and he was concerned.

He wondered briefly if her pale face and the fact that she wouldn’t meet his eyes anymore was because of him finally speaking about Shae.

And the fact that he hadn’t been able to say her name.

It still hurt him to think about Shae and her betrayal. Because he _had_ loved her. But…all of that was gone and now…

Well, he looked at Sansa and watched as she continued pacing up and down the carriage. It seemed as if the love he felt for Shae had been replaced by his enjoyment of Sansa’s company.

Or something along those lines.

But then the carriage lurched to a stop, pulling him out of his thoughts.

This is where they would stop for the night.

And tomorrow, they would finally reach the Bridge of Volantis.

* * *

Sansa counted in her head. She still had two weeks before she was officially at the nine month mark. Her midwife made a point of reminding her of how much time was left.

The plan was to cross the Bridge of Volantis, stop in a village just outside of the city, and stay there until Sansa gave birth and once she could, they would start traveling again.

But as she continued pacing up and down the carriage, Sansa wasn’t sure they would be able to stick to the plan.

She was grateful to at least be alone in the carriage. Tyrion and Varys would sleep outside, allowing her some small privacy. But she hadn’t slept the entire night. She would sit for a few moments, then have to stand up and begin walking because of the pain in her back and the clenching in her stomach. It would come for a few seconds, then disappear, only to come back as soon as she thought it safe to sit down and maybe sleep.

And as the sun was coming up, Sansa realized for certain that they would not be able to follow through with the original plan.

The baby was coming and she wasn’t sure if she was ready.

As soon as she came to this conclusion, the door opened with Tyrion bringing in a plate of breakfast for her, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes. “Good morning. How did you…”

His words trailed off as he saw her, pacing with a pained expression and bloodshot eyes from lack of sleep. “Oh gods…”

Sansa sucked in a sharp breath as she felt another wave of pain hit her. She pressed a hand against one of the walls to steady her as she did her best to breath through the pain.

She vaguely heard Tyrion say something about getting the midwife. But she didn’t pay attention. The pain had grown and tears sprung to her eyes this time. Not only because of the pain though.

But because she was also certain now that she wasn’t ready for this.

She wasn’t ready to become a mother.

* * *

Tyrion paced outside the carriage, his breakfast left forgotten on the ground. It felt as if the midwife had been with Sansa for hours, despite the sun still just peeking over the horizon.

He knew something wasn’t right last night when she began her pacing. Her pinched face, the way her hand wandered from her back to her womb. He _should’ve_ known! And now the midwife seemed to be taking forever with Sansa and they had no news or update on what was going on.

“You’re going to wear a hole in the ground with your pacing,” Varys said, swallowing down a piece of toast.

Tyrion didn’t stop in his pacing, but he did look up to cast a quick glare in Varys’ direction. “This can not be happening now. We had at least two weeks still. We were supposed to cross through Volantis. We were-“

“We were supposed to do many things,” Varys interrupted, wiping his fingers of any residual crumbs from his toast. “But if this child decides that now is the time to come, then really isn’t much we can do. Who knows? By the end of tonight, you’ll be a father.

Tyrion let out heavy breath. Varys was right. The child was coming. And he was going to be a father.

_A father._

The thought brought Tyrion to a standstill. Varys noticed and gave a light scoff. “I’m assuming you haven’t given much thought to that, have you?”

No. He hadn’t. Because even as Sansa’s stomach grew, none of it seemed real.

Mostly because of the circumstances of _how_ Sansa even became pregnant, but simply because...

He never imagined he would actually sire any children.

Or that he would be around to see them.

But that’s exactly what was happening now. His wife was about to give birth to their child. And Tyrion couldn’t think of anything that would make him leave her side now.

Unless she wanted to leave him, but…could it be that she would stay with him? That she wouldn’t leave him either? That maybe…

Maybe she enjoyed his presence as much as he did hers?

She didn’t give any kind of indication of it, of course. But for a moment, before they left that inn and before Baelish ruined things…and even after, when they finally started their journey again and how _she_ reached out to him, pulling him to her. Even if she hardly spoke anymore, she still reached out for him, resting her head in his lap, bringing his hand down to her womb where their child was kicking and tumbling about.

Weren’t those signs enough for him? He could only blame it on his self- depreciating quality that even still, he questioned whether or not she would continue to stay with him.

Because now it wasn’t just her that would be leaving him.

He was sure she would take their child as well if she ever decided to leave.

And even though Tyrion had yet to meet this child, he wasn’t sure his heart could survive.

He didn’t register Varys’ hand on his shoulder, pushing him down to sit until he had also placed a cup in his hands. “Drink. And take a deep breath.”

Tyrion blinked, coming out of his thoughts and giving Varys a grateful smile before drinking the water that was offered.

As Tyrion guzzled down the water, the carriage door opened and the midwife stepped out.

Tyrion spluttered on the water, quickly setting it down and standing up again. “What is it? Is she all right? Has she given birth already?”

The woman’s face was dark and she shook her head. “You two are fools to have brought her along. She should _never_ have had to endure a journey like this while pregnant.”

And Tyrion wasn’t in the mood to be berated or to try and explain their actions. “Is she all right?!”

“Yes. She’s fine. The labor process has begun, but it will be a long one. It always is with first time births.”

“So…what does that mean?” Tyrion asked, still not satisfied with the answer the woman was giving her.

“The child is early, as you may have well figured out. I did not think it would be _this_ early however. I have some supplies with me, but I fear it might not be enough. We have to get to Volantis.”

“Very well. We’ll get you on the fastest rider and-“

“No,” she interrupted Tyrion. “She needs to get to Volantis as well.”

Tryion blinked. “Is that even safe for her? To be traveling _mid_ -labor?”

“No, but it’ll be worse if we just stay here without the proper supplies.”

Varys stood. “I’ll let the men know. Hopefully, the worst of the holes on this road can be avoided.”

Tyrion swallowed hard. He wanted to see her. He wanted to make sure she was okay, let her know that she was _not_ alone.

Before he could ask the midwife if he could see her though, she spoke up.

“She wants to see you. Doesn’t want to be alone.”

He released a breath he hadn’t even realized he had been holding. He nodded and followed the midwife back into the carriage.

All of the pillows and cushions had been arranged on the floor to create a makeshift bed. Sansa was sitting in the middle of it all, leaning against one of the benches with her eyes closed and pain clear on her features. She inhaled deeply through her nose, then let out another breath through her mouth.

And again and again she repeated this process until the pain seemed to clear from her face. She opened her eyes just as Tyrion moved to kneel in front of her.

He didn’t even know what to say to her. How to possibly bring her comfort. Because if he lined up all of his actions and how they affected her, the negative outweighed the positive.

But still, she held his gaze, not yelling or blaming him. Not with those blue eyes, reminding him of winter and her home and where she truly belonged.

Except there was also fear in those eyes. Fear like he had never seen before.

He wondered if that fear mirrored his own.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered.

Tyrion let out a breath. And maybe regret was finally entering her mind. Because Tyrion definitely did not believe he could do this either.

“We’ll just have to pretend then,” he responded, just as quietly. “Pretend we know exactly what we’re doing.”

Sansa gave him a watery smile before closing her eyes and taking a few deep breaths.

From what he understood, the true labor process hadn’t even begun.

As the carriage lurched forward, Tyrion began preparing himself for what he assumed would be the longest day of his life.

* * *

They weren’t going to make it. Sansa figured this out when the midwife began banging on the carriage and ordering for them to stop. She stepped out of the carriage, spoke to one of them men, most likely giving him a list of the things she would need, then hurrying back inside.

“Oh blessed Seven, this child is eager,” she muttered as she moved to check between Sansa’s legs again.

Sansa tried to push down the pain. Ignore it, let her mind take her somewhere else, somewhere free of the pain.

But it was too much and a yell mixed with a sob escaped her lips.

She couldn’t do this.

“It’s all right. It’s going to be all right. It’s almost over,” Tyrion repeated over and over in her ear, using his free hand to wipe at her brow with a damp rag.

Sansa squeezed her eyes shut, trying to place her focus on the feel of Tyrion’s hand in her own.

The callous’, his fingers, smaller than her own, but still filled with strength.

Another wave of pain hit her and she squeezed his hand, trying to find a space in her mind where she could escape the pain.

But there was nowhere she could go. The pain made it’s way to every part of her body and her mind.

The only thing grounding her was the feel of Tyrion’s hand in her own.

“Damnit!”

Sansa didn’t react to the sound of the midwife.

“What’s wrong? Is that…is that normal…all that blood…? Why is there so _much_?”

She didn’t react to Tyrion’s voice either.

“Sansa, it’s time,”

She opened her eyes when she felt the midwife squeeze her knee.

Sansa just shook her head in response. “No…no, please, I…I can’t,” she choked out.

“You have to.” The midwife was not going to coddle her. “Push when I give the word.”

But Sansa kept shaking her head and muttering, “No, no, no, no, no…”

“Sansa, you can do this,” Tyrion spoke softly in her ear. “Please, my dear, you can do this. You _have_ to do this.”

“Push!”

A scream escaped her throat and by some miracle, she was doing it.

“Good, that was very good, but you’re going to have to keep pushing. Catch your breath and give me another good push when I say.”

Sansa opened her eyes, gasping for air as she looked at Tyrion. His face was pale and she knew something was wrong. But he still smiled at her, pushing the hair out of her face and telling her everything was going to be okay.

Did he know that she knew he was lying.

“Now, Sansa! Push! Push!!”

And she felt as if she was, but she couldn’t be sure. Because now the edges of her vision were blurring and somehow, the pain seemed to be lessening.

“No, Sansa, look at me. Look at me!”

She could feel someone shaking her, giving her cheeks a few light slaps.

“Please, Sansa. Open your eyes. You have to open your eyes!”

And she did, looking straight into Tyrion’s own terrified eyes. She blinked slowly. “Please don’t leave me,” she whispered.

Tyrion brought her hand up and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “I promise.”

“One more push, Sansa! You can do this, just one more!”

With a strength she wasn’t sure where it came from, Sansa gave one final push. And in that push, she placed all the pain she felt over these last few years.

Seeing her father’s execution, not knowing if Arya was alive, Rob and her mother’s death flaunted to her, Joffrey’s never-ending cruelty, being accused for his death and fleeing with Tyrion and Varys.

But there was a part of this push that she placed a small flicker of hope that had been ever-increasing in her heart. And it had only increased at hearing Tyrion’s promise to never leave her.

And she felt a pressure leave her womb and her body go slack.

A baby’s cry filled the air.

She had just enough energy to see Tyrion run over to see their child.

Then watch as he took a step back, his eyes wide as he shook his head and looked at her with…she wasn’t sure what exactly.

Because her eyes rolled back and the world around her went dark.


	12. The Disappearance

The midwife barely looked at the child, hearing the cries and determining it was healthy enough to not require her immediate attention. Without even giving the child a second glance, she slipped the baby into Tyrion’s arms to focus on more important things. She cut the cord connecting the baby to its mother then quickly began pressing rags against Sansa to stem the blood flow. She pressed wet rags to Sansa’s face, dipping it in some kind of oil that was supposed to wake her up.

But Sansa didn’t open her eyes and Tyrion looked from her deathly pale face to the baby in his arms.

When he first saw the baby as the midwife still held it, he registered with a sinking heart that the child was _exactly_ like him. A head much too large for its body, arms and legs stunted.

_A dwarf_.

And once the midwife placed the baby in his unprepared arms, he registered another fact.

It was a girl.

Within the blink of an eye, Tyrion could already see the kind of life that awaited this girl. _His daughter_.

If she survived her infancy, she would be laughed at by everyone. Barely learning to walk when children her age were already running. Her legs and knees hurting as if she were an old woman but was barely only seven. Teased and pushed around and even lifted up and thrown by cruel stable boys without an older brother that might defend her and punish her tormentors.

Her life would only become worse as she aged, her bones constantly hurting as she grew a few meager inches. And maybe if she had been born a male, her future might have a better chance at hope. A male could find work, despite being a dwarf. If Cersei’s power was ever taken away and Tyrion could safely return to Casterly Rock, his male heir could inherit the land when he was gone.

But the baby was a female. A girl. A daughter.

Tyrion didn’t want to think of what kind of jobs she would be able to find if they lived out the rest of their days on the run from Cersei. And even if they could return one day, a girl could never inherit Casterly Rock, much less a _dwarf_.

And for half a second, Tyrion wondered if she might have better life if they left her with a couple who owned a farm, isolated from the world and left undisturbed by politics and the hatred in the world.

Looking down at her though, as he held her awkwardly in his hands, her face scrunched up in a cry, tufts of red hair already sprouting from her head and a nose that looked so much like his own, Tyrion swallowed hard and could say one thing with certainty.

He would do everything in his power to make her life as easy as possible. He would be the father for her that he always wanted.

Tyrion would love his daughter.

He cradled her, fumbling only a little as he had never held a child, and looked up to Sansa.

She still hadn’t opened her eyes and her breaths were shallow.

A shaky breath escaped his lips as he moved backwards a little to sit on one of the benches and stared at his wife as she hovered between life and death.

The baby in his arms would need her mother too. If Sansa ever opened her eyes again, would she accept the child?

Tyrion began rocking the baby girl in his arms, trying to remember all the times he had seen wet nurses holding babies and the sounds they would make to soothe crying children.

The movement only seemed to agitate her even more.

“She’s going to become a singer, that one,” the midwife grumbled, standing up and wiping her hands on her apron, spreading more blood on it.

Tyrion felt his mouth dry at the sight of it and Sansa’s still form. He took a deep breath, trying to still the tremble in his voice. “Is she…?” He swallowed hard, remembering what happened to his own mother. How he had torn her apart coming into this world.

Had this baby he held done the same to Sansa?

“No…not yet.”

Tyrion felt his heart sink. There didn't seem to be any kind of hope in her statement.

The woman poked her head out of the carriage, mumbled a curse before turning her attention to the baby in Tyrion’s arms. She took her away as suddenly as she had placed her in his arms. With one of the last remaining clean rags, she wiped away all the fluid covering the baby before swaddling her tightly.

Still, she cried.

“She needs to eat and Sansa isn’t going to be able to nurse her,” she mumbled. “Not in her present condition. As soon as my supplies get here, take the child and find a wet nurse.”

Tyrion blinked as he watched the midwife looking over the baby and checking her overall health. “But, how…is she okay?”

The midwife let out a heavy breath, looking back at Tyrion. “I’m sorry, I’ve already told you that-“

Tyrion shook his head. “No, I…not Sansa. The…the baby? Is she…she’s not…”

“She’s just like her father,” the midwife finished, despite that not being what Tyrion was about to say. “There is nothing that can be done to change that. She very well can’t go back into the womb and redevelop like she was supposed to. This is how she was born and while she’ll face challenges that I’m sure you know all about, she is otherwise a healthy child.”

Tyrion pursed his lips, still staring at the crying girl.

She let out a deep sigh. “The gods are cruel, but we must take their cruelty and attempt to create something beautiful from it. And if this child survives her infancy, then she’ll simply have to work harder to show the world the kind of beauty she has to offer.”

Then the carriage door opened and the young man she had sent out for supplies came in, chest heaving as he held up the basket.

She switched the baby back into Tyrion’s arms without warning and took the basket. Dismissing the young man, she began going through everything, mumbling small notes to herself.

“Go," she said, pulling out a closed jar of liquid with herbs floating in it. "That child needs a wet nurse."

“What? But I-“

“This is delicate work I’m about to do. I need to concentrate and I doubt that child will calm down without having any milk.”

“What am I supposed to do with her though?” Tyrion asked. Because honestly, he was at a total loss. He still wasn’t even sure he was holding her correctly.

The midwife sighed in exasperation. “Take her obviously! Now get out because I need to concentrate and I guarantee she is not going to be stop crying anytime soon."

And before Tyrion knew it, he was squinting up at the sun and the baby crying even louder in his arms.

She didn’t seem to appreciate being kicked out of the carriage either.

Varys stood up once he saw Tyrion come out. He actually managed to look concerned. Which Tyrion supposed he was. Because they had been in that carriage since dawn and now the sun was beginning to sink under the horizon.

“So is everything all right?” Varys asked, taking note of the crying baby in Tyrion’s arms.

Tyrion swallowed hard, eyes looking down to the baby to the carriage. He let out a breath, feeling how shaky it came out. “Sansa, she…” His voice shook as well and Tyrion had to pause to swallow hard again.

Varys’ face seemed to soften. “But the child seems to be healthy.”

Then he really looked at the baby and even though her limbs were swaddled and the only part of her body that was visible was her head, it was enough for Varys to see that perhaps the child wasn’t completely healthy.

Instead, he voiced a quiet. “Oh.”

Out of an instinct Tyrion didn’t realize he had, he cradled her closer to his chest, partly shielding her from Tyrion’s view.

“She has to eat,” Tyrion said after a few moments of silence that was only broken by her cries. He attempted rocking her, trying to remember the motion he had seen wet nurses and even on occasion Cersei. “And Sansa can’t…” Tyrion closed his eyes. He didn’t want to think of what Sansa couldn’t do at the moment. Because the only thing that mattered was that she survived.

He looked up to meet Varys’ eyes. “We need to find her a wet nurse.”

“We’re close enough to Volantis. We can send one of the-“

Tyrion shook his head. “No, we can not wait on someone to look for one then bring one back. We have to find one immediately because this child needs to eat already.”

Varys narrowed his slightly. “Are you suggesting one of the men take the child with him into Volantis?”

Tyrion rolled his eyes. “No, I would never trust any of them to watch her.”

“Then what exactly are you suggesting?”

Tyrion held the baby just a little closer. “We take her into Volantis.”

Varys immediately shook his head. “The likelihood of you being spotted here increases a hundredfold.”

“I have to find her a wet nurse.”

Varys let out an exasperated sigh. “I’m not sure how many new ways I can find of saying this.”

“I have to find her a wet nurse,” Tyrion repeated. “Sansa’s in there and she…who knows if she’ll make it through the night. The child needs to eat and if her mother can not provide her sustenance, then I will find someone who can before it’s too late. I might…there’s a chance Sansa…I will _not_ lose them both in one night when there’s something I can do for at least one of them.” Tyrion felt a lump growing in his throat and something wet trailed down his cheek.

“If anyone recognizes you, you’ll lose more.”

“Look, we are thousands of miles from Westeros,” Tyrion balanced the baby in one arm and pulled up the scarf he kept around his shoulders and wrapped it loosely around his head. “Now I’m just one more drunk dwarf.”

Varys tilted his head a little and nodded towards the baby. “And her?”

“Obviously the child I sired from a whore who refused to keep her.” And while the words weren’t true, they still stung Tyrion to say.

Varys looked from Tyrion to the child, considering his choices carefully when Tyrion spoke up again.

“Are you coming?”

Varys let out a heavy sigh. “I can’t just abandon you now, can I?”

* * *

Surprisingly enough, the baby fell asleep on their way to the bridge. All the crying must’ve worn her out and the rhythmic rocking as they rode on horseback to the bridge helped as well.

Tyrion tried not to think of how tiny she was. Yes, she was a dwarf like him, but really? This tiny? How much bigger were normal babies? And so fragile too. He was even afraid of holding her too tightly because what if he harmed one of her ribs? And of course, he still couldn't figure out if he was holding her correctly.

But the fact that she did eventually fall asleep made him feel at least a little better concerning that.

The more he looked down at her as they made their way to Volantis, the more he could see different similarities she shared with both her parents. Obviously, the red hair came from her mother and he had already declared her nose to be exactly like his. But there was a small hint of a dimple in her cheeks that matched Sansa’s. And when she opened her eyes, they were the same green as Sansa’s.

In fact, she looked more like Sansa than anything.

The only thing she seemed to inherit from him was his nose and the curse of being a dwarf.

Would she grow up to hate him for that?

No, Tyrion wouldn't let that happen. He would be an attentive father and be there for every milestone and make sure she always knew her father loved her.

He would learn to be a good father with her.

Finally, they made it to the bridge and into the city. Tyrion hurried along the paths, holding her tightly as they passed slaves and merchants and prostitutes and a Red Priestess for the Lord of Light.

Varys asked exactly what Tyrion’s plan was in finding a wet nurse.

Tyrion didn’t pause as he answered Varys, continuing to weave through the never-ending crowds. “The place where bastards are most often bred. A whorehouse.”

Once they found a whorehouse though, the baby had woken and was fussing in Tyrion’s arms.

The man standing guard at the entrance refused to let them through.

“Tell him we just need to find a wet nurse. Surely there’s dozen of women in the back that have infants of their own,” Tyrion said to Varys.

Varys and the man spoke, Varys obviously stroking the man’s ego in attempt to convince him to let them in. But the guard was having none of it, his arms crossed over his chest as he continued shaking his head.

Tyrion could only pick up a few words but knew that there was no way they were going to get in with the baby.

The fussing soon turned into cries and Tyrion rocked her, trying to get her to calm down. But he knew the only thing that could possibly stop her cries was for her to eat.

After a few minutes of the back and forth between Varys and the guard, the entrance opened and a woman stepped out.

She narrowed her eyes at Tyrion and the baby, then looked at the guard and spoke to him in Valayrian.

Apparently, they could hear the baby from inside, despite all the surrounding noise. It was beginning to drive away customers.

“Tell her she’s hungry,” Tyrion said, grabbing Varys’ attention. “She needs to eat and her mother-“

“Doesn’t want her?” The prostitute turned to Tyrion, speaking clearly in his language.

Tyrion clenched his jaw. “No," he said in response to her question. "She needs a wet nurse.”

“So you decided to come to a whorehouse?”

“Where else could I possibly find several women who have newborns of their own or are currently pregnant?”

The woman crossed her arms. Then laughed. She said something to the guard and then went back in, motioning for them to follow after her.

And as Tyrion passed the man, he rubbed Tyrion’s head then shrugged.

“It’s good luck to rub a dwarf’s head,” he said in Valyrian. But this was something Tyrion understood.

The child in his arms could expect this treatment in the future. Probably worse since she was a girl. “It’s even better luck to suck a dwarf’s cock,” Tyrion growled as he passed him and continued following after the prostitute.

She led them to the back of the very back of the building to an empty table away from the workers and patrons.

And as they sat down and Tyrion looked around, he wondered if this were any other situation and he was not holding a child he had a part in making, no matter how unconventional, and Sansa wasn’t just on the other side of the bridge fighting for her life, would he simply go through the same old motions he always did when in a whorehouse? Would he fuck any of these women?

Looking around though, he realized he wasn’t looking at any of the women to pick out his favorites for the night.

He was looking for one that could help him with…his _daughter_.

Except, as soon as he sat down, Tyrion felt a shifting pain in his side.

He realized that he couldn’t remember pissing at all that day.

He shifted a little, wondering if he could hold it just a little longer until the woman came back.

No. He couldn’t.

He clenched his jaw and turned to Varys who was eyeing him cautiously. “I need you to hold her.”

Varys lifted an eyebrow. “You’re not going to run off, are you?”

Tyrion rolled his eyes. “No. I have to take a piss and that would be difficult while trying to hold an infant, wouldn’t you agree?”  
  
Varys shrugged in acceptance of Tyrion’s answer, holding his arms out for the baby.

For just a second, Tyrion hesitated. At this point, he trusted Varys with his life. But could he trust him with the life of this child that wasn’t even a day old?

“You won’t be long. I can manage holding her for just a few moments.”

Tyrion pursed his lips, then finally handed her over to Varys.

She squirmed a little, still swaddled snuggly, but then relaxed in Varys’ arms and actually stopped crying.

Tyrion frowned to which Varys just shrugged.

“I’ve had more experience with children than you have,” he explained.

Tyrion clenched his jaw, but still walked away, looking for a place he could quickly piss then come back to Varys and the child.  
  
He found an open window at ground level. There was nothing underneath them except for a river. He began urinating, directing the flow out the window and into the river below. He noticed that it was dark now. It had been dark for a while, but this was dark of after midnight.

And still the baby hadn’t eaten.

He closed his eyes and took several deep breaths. When they finally found the wet nurse, he wasn’t sure what he would be returning to. Would Sansa still be alive? Would the midwife tell him to say his goodbyes? Or was she already dead?

He could not do this alone. He could not raise this child without her by his side.

In fact, he didn’t even think he could properly exist without her by his side.

He should’ve found a way for her to escape that dungeon back in King’s Landing before even coming up with this ridiculous idea to impregnate.

He was sure she would have a much better life if she had escaped on her own.  
  
Tyrion was so lost in his thoughts, he didn’t realize someone had approached from behind until a rope was being thrown over him and pining his arms to his side.  
  
His heart leapt into his throat as he immediately began struggling. “You’ve made some kind of mistake!” He pleaded. “Why don’t you tell me what you think you’re doing and then-“  
  
His words were cut off with a rag stuffed into a mouth.

By his ear, a man spoke. “I’m taking you to the queen.”

Then Tyrion was spun around and hefted over the man’s shoulder before he could get a good look at him.

He fought and tried to get out of his bonds.

But what could he do? He was a dwarf.

And the most horrifying thought came to his mind.

He would most likely never see his daughter again.

If Sansa didn’t survive, how would that innocent child make it through this world?

And after all the promises he made to himself of being there for her, of showing her the unconditional love of a father, the love he never received from his own father.

That thought alone, made him continue fighting, squirming and kicking and punching.

But then the man paused, picked something up, and Tyrion felt something hitting the back of his head before everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I may have an addiction to cliffhangers...
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Thank you all so much for your kind kudos/reviews! I'd love to hear what you think of this chapter and I just would like to assure everyone that there will be a happy ending!...eventually...😅


	13. The Assumption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's me! Ugh, I'm sorry about another unplanned hiatus, but life just happened again. But seriously, this fic does have an ending planned and I promise it will not be abandoned! Also, I'm like super excited for the next chapter and have like half of it already written out. 
> 
> Thank you always for the kind kudos/reviews!! Each one really does make my day and I just love hearing your thoughts! Let me know what you think my dears!

For the second time since leaving King’s Landing, Sansa woke up and wasn’t sure where she was. But she did know that even though she had just woken up from being asleep for however long, her entire body screamed its exhaustion.

She could barely muster the energy to open her eyes.

Maybe she wasn't even awake. For all she knew, she was dead and would finally see her father and mother and Robb.

Aside from the exhaustion, she felt warmth on her arms. Was that a hug from her departed family? Or was it simply the sun trying to reach her senses?

“Sansa? Sansa can you hear me?”

Someone was talking to her now. It didn't sound like one of her parents. And it definitely wasn’t Tyrion’s voice though.

She suddenly remembered the last thing she saw before falling into unconsciousness.

He was holding _their_ child. And he looked up at her with horror.

Something was horribly wrong with the baby.

Or maybe Tyrion realized what he had done.

That they were now parents.

And maybe he felt the responsibility was too much for him.

Didn’t he realize she thought the same?

She didn’t try opening her eyes. She didn’t want to know what had happened. In a flicker of a moment, Sansa even wished that she was dead.

But what would that mean for her child?

Before she knew it, she was floating again in a sea of darkness, where time didn't exist.

When she was aware of her surroundings again, she couldn’t feel the sun on her anymore. It was disappointing.

She could hear a baby fussing though and an unfamiliar voice.

“Come now, darling. Can’t have you waking up mama now, can we? Come on, it’s time to eat up.”

This time, Sansa managed to pry her eyes open just a little.

Confirming to herself that she was not dead. She had yet to decide if that was a good thing or not.

The room was dark aside from a fire across from her. Her eyes wouldn’t focus, but she could make out the form of a woman sitting by the fire and holding a baby.

Her eyes still weren’t focusing and Sansa decided to close them for just a few moments, hoping that would help.

But when she opened them again, she could feel the suns rays again and something cool pressing against her forehead.

“Shouldn’t she have woken by now?”

“Yes, but she’s fine. She’s obviously shown signs of waking up. As long as there’s that, then there’s no need to worry.”

“But she hasn’t _actually_ woken up. It’s been a week. Shouldn’t she have woken by now?”

The cool feeling left her forehead and she wanted to tell them to bring it back. It felt nice.

She also noticed that the two voices that were speaking didn’t belong to Tyrion. She knew that she had heard them before, but the only thing she could place was that neither belonged to Tyrion.

Images of his horrified face filled her mind again and she didn’t want to see that anymore. She wanted to think of all the times she saw him watching her with a soft gaze, coaxing away her nightmares, encouraging her to eat by promising that he would eat too.

Those images were hard for her to conjure however. So instead, she thought of her parents, trying to imagine the joy they would have at knowing she had a child.

Of course, that was if they were still alive and the child was healthy and Tyrion wasn’t the father.

But her father said he would always find her a man brave and kind and worthy of her.

Wasn’t Tyrion brave and kind?

With her eyes still closed, she guessed it was daytime. But she couldn’t feel the warmth of the sun on her skin or in the room. Sansa guessed it was cloudy.

It took a few minutes, but her eyelids finally began to flutter open.

Sansa guessed correctly in that it was a cloudy day. But even still, there was a dim light coming in from the window.

She was alone in the room. Her father wasn’t lingering in the doorway with his hand pressed to his mouth in worry. Her mother wasn’t at her bedside sewing a new pattern and smiling at her with relief. Her husband wasn’t there pacing at the other end of the room and muttering to himself.

Sansa was alone.

Except there was a small whine coming from beside her. She turned and looked to see a tiny bassinet set up beside her bed.

Inside was a baby.

Her ( _their)_ baby.

Sansa swallowed hard as she shifted on the bed to look properly.

The baby’s face was scrunched up, squirming a little in the blanket it was swaddled in. Sansa couldn’t believe that this small human had been inside of her at one point.

Then one tiny arm poked through the blanket quickly followed by the other and Sansa realized what had caused the look on horror on Tyrion’s face.

The child was a dwarf.

As soon as its arms were free, the baby’s whimpers turned into crying.

By instinct, Sansa sat up, ignoring the protests of her entire body, and grabbed the baby into her arms.

The baby began kicking and screaming. Sansa saw that it was a girl and held her even tighter.

What kind of future would await her daughter?

She rocked her gently, remembering the movements of her mother and old Nan with Bran and Rickon. Tucking her arms back under the blanket and swaddling her, the baby began to calm down and stared up at Sansa with her wide green eyes.

Sansa let out shaking breath, seeing just how much the baby looked like a Stark.

Except for her nose. Her nose was exactly like Tyrion’s. And of course her dwarf limbs and the size of her head and _gods_ , she couldn’t even begin to imagine how many problems she would have with her bones and-

Where was Tyrion? Why wasn’t he here?

She didn't realized how much she needed to hear him. Reassuring her that everything would be fine. Their daughter would grow up to be strong and healthy. That she was worthy of love and of course both of her parents loved her.

And his hand on her shoulder, soft and grounding and reminding her to breathe.

The door opened and a woman Sansa had never seen before stood in the doorway.

She looked at Sansa with surprise then finally relaxed and walked in the room. “Looks like you’ve finally decided to join the land of the living.” She came closer and held out her arms to take the baby away.

But Sansa still had no idea who this woman was or why she was attempting to take the baby away. Sansa stood up, ignoring the slight wobble in her legs, and took a few steps back, not once loosening her hold on _her_ baby. “What are you doing in here?” Her voice came out just barely above a whisper. How long had it been since she last spoke?

The woman looked at Sansa with annoyance that quickly turned into understanding. “Of course. We’ve never met.” The woman stayed in her spot and lowered her hands. “I’m Rivka. The wet nurse.”

Sansa’s grip tightened still. “Where’s my husband?”

Rivka pursed her lips. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged helplessly. “I mean I don’t know. We have-“

“And Lord Varys? Where’s he?”

“Just downstairs. Now, if you’d please, it’s actually time for her to eat.”

Sansa shook her head, holding the baby even tighter. “I want to speak to him.”

Rivka gave a short huff before nodding her head and walking back out of the room.

Once the door closed, Sansa stared down at the baby. What did she mean she didn’t know where Tyrion was? If Varys was here, surely so would Tyrion.

But then she couldn’t stop thinking about his horrified expression and he had left her, hadn’t he? He didn’t want any part of this child’s life because she was a dwarf. Because she was _just like him._

She could feel her legs beginning to weaken again, but she stayed standing, her eyes darting down to her daughter, to the door, and outside the window.

Until finally the door opened.

Not only did Varys walk in, but so did the midwife and Rivka hovered behind them after closing the door.

Varys approached her with a gentle smile, but Sansa could see the pity and worry in his eyes. “Sansa-“

“Where’s my husband?” she repeated her question.

“Lady Sansa, please. You have to take a seat first,” the midwife said.

Sansa eyed the three of them warily before sitting down in a chair that had been placed by her bedside. She held the baby tightly, her mind wanting to take in every detail of her daughter and pretend things were fine and normal and nothing was wrong.

Except everything was the exact opposite.

“Where’s my husband?” Sansa wasn’t going to say anything else until they answered her question.

Varys stepped forward again, sitting on the edge of her bed to face her. “He’s gone,” Varys said, speaking honestly.

Part of her already knew that was what he was going to say. But it still hurt to hear one of her worst fears confirmed.

Tyrion was now just another person who abandoned her.

Varys began explaining that he believed something happened to him. That there was no way Tyrion could’ve just left and that his little birds have been flying around listening for even the softest of whispers as to what could’ve happened to him and-

“No.” Sansa’s soft voice was still an interruption. Varys paused in his explanation as Sansa looked away from him and down to her baby girl. “No, you didn’t see the look on his face.” With a finger, she traced a line down the baby’s cheek and gently tapped her nose.

“And you didn’t see how closely he held her as we looked for a wet nurse,” Varys countered.

Sansa looked up, knowing she was crying, but felt no need to wipe away her tears. She tried to picture it, what Varys had just said. Tyrion snuggling their baby girl close to his chest. The worry and fear he must’ve experienced, the same worry and fear as every new father. But despite it, the joy buried underneath it all at holding their daughter.

Every time she came close to picturing it, the image was contradicted with his look of horror. The last expression she saw on his face.

“What you say, Lord Varys, may very well be true, but it’s not what I saw. And after everything I have been through, I can not hold on to a hope that perhaps he did love this child as much as I love her. Not after what I saw on his face or the fact that he’s not here now.”

Varys opened his mouth to say something, but the midwife spoke up in an attempt to steer the conversation to something a little more positive. “Does she have a name yet?”

Sansa looked down at her, noticing the way her face was beginning to scrunch up again and her body beginning to squirm. Even though she looked exactly like her, exactly like a Stark, she still had a Lannister nose. Tyrion’s nose.

Part of Sansa wouldn’t doubt she’d have his quick tongue and character as well.

More tears welled up in her eyes.

“Her name is Abigayle.”

Varys shared a not-so-subtle look with the midwife and Rivka. He pursed his lips. "Sansa...you do realize what that name means, correct?"

Sansa held her head high. "Yes. And it's the name I want her to have, whether the meaning's true or not for her life."

* * *

Tyrion lost count of the amount of times he had tried to escape. Every time his captor turned his head, Tyrion would scramble to find something to cut his bonds with. At one point, he came so close, scraping the ropes against a rock while the man stole a fisherman’s boat.

He wasn’t fast enough and man picked him up and tossed him into the boat like a sack of potatoes.

Now that they were out at sea in this tiny boat, there was little Tyrion could do to try and escape. Because even if by some miracle he cut his bonds and knocked the man unconscious, what would he do? He could hardly swim and was so disoriented. He wouldn’t even know which direction to go.

But Tyrion had to get back to Sansa and their daughter. He _had_ to. He didn’t want to think of the possibility that perhaps Sansa hadn’t made it. What if the midwife had done everything she could, but it still wasn’t enough to keep Sansa alive? What if…?

No. He could not think those kinds of thoughts. Sansa was alive.

Another fear came up though. If she was alive, how would his disappearance be explained? The last thing she saw from him was a horrified expression. Because he saw their daughter. He saw her short limbs and over-sized head and he couldn’t help it. How could Sansa know that his reaction was not because of their daughter, but because their daughter would experience every trial Tyrion went through because of being a dwarf.

What if she thought he abandoned her because of their daughter?

Once that thought formed in his mind, Tyrion tried even harder to at least untie the gag, resorting to pleading and even singing to convince his captor to take off the gag. Because once the gag was off, maybe Tyrion could convince him to not take him to Cersei. That he would pay a much bigger reward than what Cersei had offered.

Except once the gag was taken off, Tyrion found out that his captor was not taking him to Cersei at all.

He was taking him to Daenerys. Queen Daenerys Targaryen.

They were going to the same place Varys had been trying to take them.

And a tiny speck of hope blossomed in Tyrion’s chest. Maybe Varys would continue the journey with Sansa and their daughter.

Tyrion no longer had a desire to escape. This man, which he concluded was none other than the exiled Jorah Mormont, might end up reuniting him with his family.

 _Family_. Even thinking about that word made his heart swell with fear and want and desperation. Is that what they were now? Him, Sansa, and this little girl they brought into this world. And even though he was a Lannister and had a proud family history and Jaime and Cersei and his father that were his family, the word meant nothing then.

But now, it held a whole new definition to him.

Even if they still hadn’t been all together with everyone conscious and not on the brink of death.

* * *

Because they still weren’t sure what happened to Tyrion, Varys suggested to Sansa that she not leave the room at all. She was used to being confined to one place. That had been her life for almost a whole year now.

But what made it difficult was Rivka was allowed to take Abigayle out. And Sansa had no idea where they went.

Varys would always join Rivka, mostly for Sansa’s sake though. He would reassure her it was a small ten minute walk around the inn. Enough for Abigayle to get fresh air and sunlight.

She couldn’t shake the fear though that something would happen. Rivka and Varys would be attacked by Cersei’s men. Rivka would decide she wanted Abigayle for herself and take her far away. Bandits attacked them and killed all three.

And Sansa would have no idea what happened to Abigayle. She would be lost to her forever, just like Tyrion. And if that happened, Sansa wasn’t sure where her will to live would come from.

It wasn’t long though before the midwife said Sansa was well enough to travel again. And even if Tyrion was no longer a part of their group, Varys still wanted to go to Meereen. Sansa didn’t see the point. The only reason why they were going was because of Tyrion and the possibility of him making an alliance with this new Targaryen Queen.

“It will still be a chance for you to create a new life for yourself and Abigayle,” Varys said the night before they left.

Sansa didn’t respond to him, smoothing down Abigayle’s hair that was starting to become longer. “I can make a new life for myself anywhere,” she muttered.

“Yes, but perhaps Meereen would be the best place for you. You wouldn’t have to stay hidden anymore and could go outside without having to dye your hair there. And it’s more distance between you and Westeros and that is never a bad thing.”

So once again, they loaded up into the wheelhouse, after it had been thoroughly cleaned out. The midwife didn’t join them. Rivka took her place.

Rivka was much more different than the midwife. Talkative and loud and always seemed to find something to laugh at. She didn’t know who Sansa was or Tyrion and didn’t care to find out what exactly they were running from.

It annoyed Sansa. But Rivka always smiled at Abigayle and would gently pinch her cheeks and was always cooing over her.

She knew Abigayle was a dwarf, but still seemed to adore her.

Which outweighed Sansa’s annoyance.

And it was hard to be annoyed when Abigayle was with her. Every time Sansa looked down at her daughter, every fear and worry about the world around her disappeared. Sansa loved her more than she thought possible.

Abigayle hardly fussed, only of course when she needed changing or was hungry. If she wasn’t asleep, she kept her eyes wide open, taking in everything around her. Sansa could already tell she would have Tyrion’s wit.

She wondered if Tyrion hadn’t left, would he love Abigayle as much as she did?

Her darkest moments were always when her thoughts strayed to Tyrion and thoughts of what could’ve been. In another life, maybe they would’ve grown into the kind of respecting love that her parents had. Maybe they could’ve had this family normally, without their lives at stake and not because of some kind of science experiment. Maybe she could've opened her bed to him.

And for a brief moment, Sansa thought that was the direction their relationship was going. Their companionship growing into something more.

But Tyrion was gone. He left after seeing Abigayle. Even if Varys insisted that Tyrion did not leave of his own free will. Sansa couldn’t know that for sure and she couldn’t stand for her heart to be hurt with false hope.

And on the day that Abigayle gave her first smile, smiling as Sansa pressed their noses together, Varys announced they had arrived.

After all this time and all the trials they had to endure, they were finally in Meereen.

Sansa wondered if maybe they were going to simply make a new life, a new home. Her and Abigayle with help from Varys and Rivka for a time. Then they would be left alone, Sansa raising her daughter and doing her best to make some kind of life for Abigayle. Maybe even after a time, after the Lannister’s rule, Sansa could go back. Go to the North, home to Winterfell and maybe by some miracle be reunited with the rest of her remaining family.

She wasn’t even sure if she still had remaining family though.

When she began pulling on her cloak to step outside of the wheelhouse, Varys stopped her.

“You’re safe here. You no longer have to hide.”

It sounded too good to be true.

The three of them walked along the path, with Varys walking confidently, most likely knowing exactly where he was going.

The sun felt wonderful on Sansa’s bare skin. The last time she had been out in the sun like this was months ago in Pentos.

Even there though, she had been hidden away. Out here, she was out in public. And every pair eyes was on her. Heads turned to stare as her porcelain skin contrasted their bronze skin. They began speaking in their foreign tongue as the small group passed through the streets. Sansa had no idea what they were saying, but she was sure they were talking about them.

Sansa held her head high and clutched Abigayle closer to her chest. She didn’t care if they stared at her or spoke about her. So long as they didn’t catch sight of Abigayle. Because Sansa knew she wasn’t ready to deal with the whispers of her dwarf child.

They hadn’t been walking for more than half an hour when a group of guards blocked their path, holding their spears up, but seeming ready to point it at them at a moment's notice. Rivka gave a small shout of surprise and Sansa held Abigayle even closer and tried to listen over the rushing blood in her ears.

Varys was the only one that didn’t seem at all concerned by this.

The guard in the front center stepped forward. He looked at them through narrowed eyes before speaking in the common tongue. “Queen Danerys demands your presence."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a quick link to the name meaning of Abigayle, because it's going to be super important! https://www.babycenter.com/baby-names-abigayle-8135.htm


	14. The Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your kind reviews and all the kudos! It definitely make writing that much more enjoyable!
> 
> I'd also like to say that I really hope I got Daenerys' voice down, but there is going to be a little bit of OOC with her because this is obviously a different situation than what happened in the show. And I thought Littlefinger was intimidating to write. Daenerys definitely had me rewatching several episodes to make sure I got her voice down! And the timeline is definitely not the same as it was in the show, but this is my story, so that's just the way it happened!
> 
> Hope you lovely readers enjoy this next update and can I just say that I am super pumped for the next chapter!! You'll understand once you finish this chapter 😉
> 
> Let me know what you think!

If Sansa were to give her honest opinion, she preferred the throne room here in Meereen. The throne itself that Daenerys Targaryen sat on was simple. A bench that seemed to be made out of stone. Sansa was sure there was intricate designs carved out on the bench, but it was such a contrast to the throne in King’s Landing. That throne that everyone seemed to be fighting for, made out of hundreds of swords.

Sansa understood it was all for power. But in the back of her mind, she never really liked that throne. It was too…barbaric.

Yet there was always the claim that anything east of Braavos was a land of barbarians and savages.

Standing before Daenerys without a multitude of people packed into the throne room though made Sansa questions who the real barbarians and savages were.

“Lady Sansa Stark of Winterfell,” Daenerys started, her voice carrying from her throne down to where Sansa stood. “You seem to be far away from home.”

Sansa held Daenerys’ gaze, her grip on Abigayle tightening subtly. “As are you.”

Varys made an odd sound in the back of his throat. It was so quiet though, Sansa wondered if she heard properly.

Daenerys raised an eyebrow and Sansa couldn’t tell if there was a hint of a smirk or a scowl on her face. She continued to stare at Sansa.

Sansa didn’t look away.

She could hear the slight sound of Varys taking a step forward, but Daenerys still didn’t look at her or Rivka.

Daenerys spoke again. “I received news that you were married. To a Lannister no less. You seem fairly young to be married.”

“As I’m sure you were when you were given to your Dothraki husband.”

Daenerys gave a wry smile. “Isn’t it wonderful? Politics.”

No. It wasn’t.

“Whatever the case, it appears your husband isn’t here.”

Sansa swallowed hard. She didn’t need to be reminded of Tyrion’s absence. It was something her mind refused to forget for even a moment. “I didn’t realize you received news of the happenings in Westeros all the way here in Meereen.”

At this, Sansa could clearly see Daenerys’ smile. “I try my best to stay informed of everything happening in the kingdom that is rightfully mine.”

“Then you must realize how long the list of people are that believe Westeros is their kingdom by right.”

Maybe that wasn’t the most tactful thing Sansa had ever said. But she was tired of it all. She thought by coming to Meereen, she could live in peace until it was safe to return to Winterfell, to not have to worry about the politics and the wars over the Iron Throne.

Apparently not.

Varys cleared his throat. “Your Grace-“

Daenerys held up a hand and Varys immediately stopped. He even took a step back and lowered his head.

“That long list of people you speak of are usurpers. The Iron Throne has always belonged to the Targaryen bloodline.” Daenerys pressed her mouth into a thin line. “That was taken away by the Kingslayer. A Lannister.”

Sansa’s hold tightened even more on her daughter. Abigayle seemed to sense her mother’s unease and began whimpering softly in her arms.

“I believe that child in your arms is a Lannister?”

Sansa felt her breath leave her chest. “She is mine.”

“But you don’t deny she is a Lannister.”

“Leave her alone! That poor child is just-!”

Rivka’s protests were cut off by one of the guards stepping forward with a spear pointed inches away from her throat.

Sansa took a deep breath. “This is _my_ child. No harm will come to her while I draw breath. She may have Lannister blood, but that does not mean she is responsible for the crimes of the Lannister family. And if anything, the Stark blood that runs through her is stronger.”

“It doesn’t even look like the child is more than six months. How can you say the Stark blood is stronger?”

“Because I know what it means to be a Stark. The blood of a Stark can not be polluted by Lannister blood.” While she believed whole-heartedly in the words coming out of her mouth, they still left a bitter taste. Because it was hard to forget what the Lannister bloodline had contributed to Abigyale.

“Bring her to me."

A guard stepped forward at Daenerys’ command, but Sansa took a step back. She hardly noticed the feeling of a spear in her back. “She will _not_ leave my arms.”

“Very well, then I would ask for you to bring her to me.”

Sansa's boldness wavered. She glanced at Varys. His face was unreadable, as he always kept it in these kind of situations. But he gave her a small nod as if to say it was okay.

Taking another deep breath, Sansa stepped forward and climbed the steps to stand before Daenerys.

Once Sansa finally reached the top, Daenerys stood. But she did not reach out to take Abigayle from Sansa’s arms. And just as Sansa adjusted her hold so Daenerys could look at her daughter, she saw an odd look pass over her face.

A look of longing.

Of course, that was quickly replaced by concern when Daenerys noticed the features Abigayle had inherited from Tyrion.

Sansa waited to hear some kind of criticism or even an accusation that it would be a mercy to let Daenerys rid the world of this Lannister.

But Daenerys pursed her lips, took a step back, and looked at Sansa. “Why did you come here?”

“Because that man down there believed my husband could help you take the Iron Throne.”

“But he’s not here. You are. So I will ask again. Why are you here?”

Because there was a small part of her that hoped that maybe Tyrion hadn’t abandoned her, that maybe he was trying to make his way back to her with the thought that she would still go to Meereen.

“Because I wish to raise my daughter in peace, away from the ugliness of politics, until it is safe enough for me to return to my rightful home at Winterfell,” Sansa responded instead.

Sansa noticed Daenerys’ eyes narrow just slightly. And Sansa could see a curious spark in this woman’s eyes.

Daenerys clasped her hands together in front and let out a breath. “Meereen will be that safe haven for you and your party. Missandei, please show them to the guest quarters.”

The young woman that stood behind Daenerys the entire time nodded. She walked down the stairs with Sansa following behind and soon Varys and Rivka were walking with them.

Missandei explained a few things about Meereen and the palace. Varys was shown his room first and before Sansa and Rivka could be taken to their rooms, Varys said he would find Sansa later to speak with her.

Going from the look in his eyes, Sansa almost expected him to give her a reprimand for her bold words.

And now that she was away from Daenerys and following behind Missandei without any fear, Sansa was beginning to feel light-headed.

Had she really said all of those words to Daenerys Targareyn? The Mother of Dragons? And here she was, still drawing breath.

Sansa was shown her room next. Rivka offered to take Abigayle since it was time for her to feed already. And Sansa let her take Abigayle. Because Rivka had proved herself trustworthy. She would protect Abigayle almost as fiercely as Sansa.

She didn’t think that would be necessary though. Because maybe now they were finally, _officially_ , safe.

Once the door to her room was closed, Sansa let out a deep breath. She didn’t even care to look around at the odd trinkets and decorations that were typical of this region.

Instead, she closed her eyes and counted her breaths and thought about how easily those words came to her before.

Sansa came to a realization.

Somewhere, along the way, she had changed from the scared girl running away from everything she’d every known, to a young woman who spoke before queens with a quick tongue and her head never dropping in submission.

And Sansa hated the second realization that came with it.

She wished that Tyrion was here to see her. Because she was almost sure he would be proud of her.

* * *

The kidnapper and the kidnapped had been, _of fucking course_ , kidnapped. By slave traders no less.

Tyrion had barely managed to keep his life. He had his sliver tongue to thank for that.

But still being alive was the only bright spot in his life at the moment. Because now, he had no way of knowing for sure if they were still going to Meereen. And even if these men were taking him and Jorah and the rest of these captives to Meereen, it didn’t mean that they would all make it there alive.

He was almost sure that every day he would have to make sure the slave traders believed him worth bringing along.

And day after day of trying to prove that he should still be allowed to live was tiring. Especially since Tyrion could clearly recall a day not too long ago when he didn’t care one way or another.

Things were different now though. Because there was Sansa and their daughter.

At night, he always wondered how much she had grown, praying Sansa loved her fiercely, and if he would ever see either of them again.

He was scared to hold on to any hope though. What had holding on to hope ever done to him except show him the worst parts of humanity?

* * *

When Sansa woke up she realized the sun was already past the mid-day point. She sat up and reached for Abigayle, but she wasn’t there.

Her heart rate jumped, but then she saw a small note in Abigayle’s crib. Rivka had taken her to feed her and to let Sansa continue resting.

She felt her heart calm and realized that she actually felt _rested_. She couldn’t remember the last time she woke up feeling this renewed.

It was also the first time in a long while that she didn’t have to worry about her safety.

Still, she found herself holding her breath, waiting for the next crisis to come along.

Three weeks into their stay at Meereen and the crisis she’d been waiting for never came.

Part of her wanted to release that breath, but after everything that happened to her, Sansa knew better than to believe her life would be fine.

They created a new routine. Her meals were always taken with Rivka and Varys in a small dining room of the palace. Rivka would be the one to fill the air with conversation most of the time. Varys would sometimes share news from Westeros, but Sansa never bothered to listen since none of the news was actually about her family. Abigayle was almost always awake during these meal times, her eyes always focused in on whoever was talking while she gently waved a doll in the air that Varys had found for her.

One day, Rivka shared a concern. Abigayle should already be able to place weight on her legs while someone held her up.

Sansa’s sharp eyes turned to Rivka. “Abigayle will be able to do that when she’s ready.”

Rivka held up a hand in a placating manner. “I know, it’s just a bit of a concern. And she still can’t manage to hold her head up while lying on her stomach. Maybe-“

Sansa stood up and gathered Abigayle into her arms. “As I said, Abigayle will be able to do that when she is ready. She does not need to reach the milestones of other children at the same time,” Sansa said, leaving the room and her half-eaten plate behind.

She took Abigayle into her room and maybe she did place Abigayle on her stomach and willed her to hold her head up or held her up and pleaded that she be able to place weight on her tiny legs.

When Sansa would walk with Varys in the market, taking Abigayle with her, she ignored all the stares and whispers. The people had grown accustomed to seeing the woman with firey hair. But they couldn’t seem to grow used to seeing her dwarf child.

She asked Varys one day to translate some of the whispers.

“Sansa, I don’t believe that would be wise,” Varys said gently.

But Sansa insisted. She needed to know so she could properly defend her daughter.

“They say it would be a mercy for the child to be drowned.”

She felt bile come up at his words, but she took a few quick breaths, nodded, and held Abigayle closer to her.

But still the crisis Sansa was expecting never came.

Except Queen Daenerys asked for Sansa to come see her.

Alone.

Was this it? The end of their stay? The end of the safety and partial relief that Sansa had found? Could this be the crisis Sansa had been waiting for?

She wasn’t sure what to expect. But before she left, she pressed a kiss to Abigayle’s forehead as she slept and asked Rivka to watch her well.

Rivka looked up from her attempt at sewing and gave Sansa and odd look. But then she went back to her sewing with a small shrug.

Sansa was escorted by one of the guards to a small study where Daenerys was.

Daenerys sat at a table, looking down at a book. She was alone, sitting at the table with two goblets of wine. Both untouched.

Remembering her place, Sansa curtsied. She looked up to see Daenerys smiling as she motioned for Sansa to sit at the table with her.

Sansa looked for any hint of malice in that smile, but she couldn’t find any.

The smile actually seemed sincere.

She took a seat and Daenerys pushed forward one of the goblets towards her. “I expect your stay has been comfortable so far?”

Sansa took a sip, her mind suddenly flashing back to all those times she sat with Cersei at the table and had to take everything the woman offered to her. Those were dark memories that should stay locked away in her mind though. “Yes, everything has been lovely.”

“And have you grown used to the weather? I understand it’s nothing like this from where you’re from.”

“Yes. It helps to not have to wear gowns that have several layers.”

Daenerys smiled again. Then taking a breath, she pushed the book in front of Sansa. “Do you know who these people are?”

Sansa looked down at the page. It was a family tree of the Bolton’s. They were the ones who held on to Winterfell. Sansa pursed her lips and nodded.

Daenerys flipped the page. “And them?”

Now it was the family tree of the Tarth’s. She remembered meeting Brienne of Tarth, but that was her only experience with that family name. Either way, she remembered everything about their history from her lessons. So Sansa nodded again.

Daenerys hummed in approval, taking the book back, flipping through a few more pages before shutting it. She leaned back in her chair and regarded Sansa.

Sansa didn’t let herself become uncomfortable. She was used to powerful men and women scrutinizing her, trying to determine how they could make her a pawn in whatever game they had.

Something in her gut screamed that she was about to become another pawn.

“I’m assuming you know all the strengths and weaknesses of the great houses, do you not?”

Sansa nodded. “Father believed that even his daughters should dedicate study to this instead of just sitting by a fire with needlework.”

“I have a very large army and very large dragons. But I do not have someone who understands the land I am to rule. After much consideration, I believe you would be of great service to me.”

Sansa pursed her lips. “Your Grace,” she started, lowering her gaze for the first time since entering the room. “I am honored by your request, but I have to decline. I only want to live in peace with my daughter and return to my home when it is safe. I no longer wish to be involved in any of these wars or politics.”

“Yet, your name is Stark. You and I both come from these great houses. And because of our names, we are destined for greater things than living at the edge of the world.” Then Daenerys gave a light scoff. “After everything that I’ve been told happened to you in King’s Landing, I would’ve believed you wanted those people out of power.”

Sansa gave Daenerys a sharp gaze. “You can not possibly know or begin to understand the torment I was put through in that place.”

“No, I don’t claim to understand. But I do believe that you still have a greater purpose to serve in all of this.” Daenerys stood and walked towards the door. “I will grant you a day to consider my offer.”

“And if I refuse?” Sansa asked, still sitting at the table.

Daenerys looked at her over her shoulder. “Then you live in peace here and can watch as your family name dies into obscurity.”

The rest of the day Daenerys’ words ran through her mind. The young queen had a point. Sansa didn’t know how long it would be until she could safely return to Winterfell. Staying here in Meereen and doing nothing could possibly lead to the Stark name dying in obscurity.

And the pride she held in the Stark name couldn’t let her do that.

She laid on her bed that night and watched Abigayle as she slept. She had to consider Abigayle too now with this decision. If Sansa stayed here and did nothing, what kind of life would Abigayle have, whether she was a Stark or Lannister?

Sansa reached over and gently squeezed Abigayle’s small fist. She scrunched up her nose in her sleep. It reminded Sansa of the way Tyrion would scrunch up his nose when he was attempting to quickly hide his displeasure at something.

She had come to a decision.

Sansa could only pray it was the right thing.

* * *

Tyrion thought he might die of relief. Because after all that time, he was finally here. He had finally made it to Meereen. His fists continuously clenched and unclenched as he fought the urge to take off running to ask everyone he came across if they had seen Sansa. If she was here. If she was alive. If she made it with their daughter.

But what kind of impression would that make on the queen he was standing before now?

And, oh gods, it was _awkward_.

Daenerys sat on her throne, staring down at him and Jorah. And Tyrion could see the badly concealed fury in her face. He just wasn’t sure if it was from seeing Jorah or him, a Lannister. Behind her stood another woman that Tyrion assumed was her lady-in-waiting and even further behind her, hidden in the shadows was another figure. Tyrion couldn't make out any features of this third person.

Jorah finally broke the silence. “Your Grace, I want to say-“

“You will not speak.”

Well, that seemed answer enough for Tyrion. Her anger was definitely directed more towards Jorah then.

Daenerys’ focus turned towards Tyrion. “How do I know you are who you say you are?”

“If only I were otherwise,” Tyrion mumbled, but still loud enough for Daenerys to hear.

Daenerys gave no response, which Tyrion actually found odd.

So instead, he continued speaking. “Yes, I am a Lannister. And our family has wronged you and I would understand why you might choose to have me killed as revenge. But you have to know that I killed my mother, Johanna Lannister, on the day I was born. I killed my father, Tywin Lannister, with a bolt to the heart. I am the greatest Lannister killer of our time.”

“So I should welcome you into my service because you murdered members of your own family?”

“’Into your service’? Your Grace, we have only just met. It’s too soon to know if you deserve my service.”

Daenerys raised an eyebrow and Tyrion held his breath, wondering if he spoke too brashly. “If you’d rather return to the fighting pits, just say the word.”

Tyrion swallowed hard. He was too close to finding Sansa, because he refused to believe she was dead. He couldn’t have come all this way only to be executed because he could not hold his tongue.

So he took a deep breath and spoke again. This time, reminding Daenerys of how far she had come and how word had spread all over of her accomplishments. “I thought you were worth meeting at the very least,” Tyrion concluded.

“Is that the only reason you came halfway across the world? To meet me?”

Again, Tyrion found himself swallowing hard. “No,” he started. “I also came here to look for my wife.”

At this, Tyrion swore he saw Daenerys’ mouth twitch with the hint of a smile. “And what makes you believe she would come here?”

“Because we were traveling together to come here. And then she…” Tyrion took a steadying breath and banished the images that came to his mind of Sansa, eyes closed and so still. He shook himself and cleared his throat. “But we were _separated_ , _”_ He hoped Jorah would pick up on his emphasis on that word and know he was not completely forgiven for kidnapping him just yet. “I had hoped that she might have continued the journey here.”

Daenerys shifted in her seat. “Whatever your reasons for coming, your services are not necessary here.”

Tyrion blinked. He refrained from repeating back Daenerys’ words and instead explained his understanding of politics and Westeros. “I understand you would have a large army and dragons with you, but killing and politics aren’t always the same thing.”

He was about to share his experience as serving as Hand to Joffrey, when Daenerys interrupted him.

“Yes, I have come to that realization. Which is why I have already found some to serve as my Hand.” Daenerys turned her head slightly to look just behind her. “What would you have me do with _him_? I swore I would kill him if he ever returned,” she spoke to whoever was standing in the shadows, referring to Jorah specifically.

When the third figure stepped forward, Tyrion felt the air leave his lungs.

It was Sansa.

Daenerys continued talking, but Tyrion couldn’t hear her. He could only hear a buzzing as his eyes stayed on Sansa.

She was here. She was _alive_ and actually looked healthy and _she was alive_.

Sansa was speaking now. But Tyrion still heard nothing except for the pounding of his heart in his ears.

But something was wrong. He felt it. Sansa hadn’t even looked at him. He would’ve thought that she would’ve at least shown some kind of emotion. But her expression was cool, mirroring that of Daenerys and…

Oh.

That was it. Her expression mirrored Daenerys’, which meant she too was concealing fury.

She must’ve thought he left on purpose.

“Sansa,” Tyrion finally breathed out. He stepped forward, starting to climb the stairs in an attempt to get closer to her, but then the guards standing barred his way with their spears.

Daenerys held up a hand for the guards to stand at ease again.

And it was that moment that Sansa finally looked at him.

Daenerys’ anger burned brightly in her eyes. But Sansa’s anger was cold, and Tyrion actually felt a shiver from the look she gave him.

Tyrion wanted to climb all the way up those steps to her, but he knew he couldn’t. Not in that moment.

“Lady Sansa, you were saying?”

Tyrion was finally brought back to the conversation. Sansa looked away from Tyrion and back to Daenerys. “You can not have him by your side when you take the Iron Throne,”

Daenerys pursed her lips and stared at Jorah for a long moment. Then, she finally said, “Remove Ser Jorah from the city.”

Tyrion glanced back to see his traveling companion escorted out by the guards. He was sure the man would be all right.

Daenerys spoke again once the doors were closed. “As for you, Tyrion Lannister, I believe my safest option would be to kill you. However, I will leave that decision to my hand. Lady Sansa?”

Tyrion held his breath. Once again, Sansa was looking at him. And she was hiding her emotions so well from him again. Gods, if Daenerys hadn’t just sent Jorah away, he could’ve killed him for taking him away from Sansa.

The only thing he could tell was that she was angry.

Tyrion took another step up, hiding a wince as the guards once again pointed their spears at him. “Sansa, if I could just explain what happened-“

“No,” Sansa interrupted him.

Tyrion blinked. His mind was whirling with incoherent thoughts and before he could bring order to any of them, she spoke again.

“Your father would have had him killed. And his own father wanted him killed. But this is a new era and we are not our fathers. No, I don’t believe you should have him executed.”

Daenerys gave a nod. “Very well.” She stood up. “Have Lord Tyrion escorted to the atrium. I’m sure his wife would like to have a word with him there in private once we’ve settled on some matters.”

The guards began to guide Tyrion back down the steps. He had no other choice, but to follow where they led him. He managed to turn around to watch as Sansa followed behind Daenerys and the other woman.

Not once did Sansa turn to look back at him.


	15. The Reunion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was both the easiest and hardest chapter I've ever written! I mean, the words flowed, but then I wanted to make sure it all fit perfectly and characterization was good and Daenerys is so hard to write 😭😂😂
> 
> Thank you everyone for your kind words and all the kudos! I really hope you enjoy this next chapter!

Sansa had never seen Daenerys this distraught. And even then, Sansa could only tell the queen was feeling this way by the constant wringing of her hands.

But then she told Sansa her presence wasn't necessarily required. It was only unless Sansa wished to be there.

Sansa frowned. “Your Grace, as your Hand, I believe my presence is required. Especially as this concerns what to do with an exile who has returned without any kind of permission.”

Daenerys pursed her lips. Whoever this was, their presence definitely had Daenerys in turmoil. Sansa actually felt concerned for her.

But then she explained what her main concern was.

“There’s another man. He claims to be Tyrion Lannister.”

Sansa felt her blood freeze, starting from her heart and reaching all the way to her fingers and toes.

Daenerys repeated that it wasn’t necessary for Sansa to be there. If it really was Tyrion Lannister, she didn’t believe it would even be a good idea for Sansa to be there.

“What kind of reunion would that be?” Daenerys had said.

Sansa insisted though. Because she had to know right now. She had to know if it was him. Why was he here? Why had he _left her_?

She stood behind Daenerys the entire time, making sure the shadows concealed her.

And it was Tyrion.

She knew even before seeing him. She could  _feel_ his presence in the throne room.

Tyrion didn’t recognize her at first. Which was fine. Because it gave Sansa time to collect her thoughts.

Just when she had all her thoughts collected and was ready to cut him out of her life because that’s what he had done to her by abandoning her, he said something to make her doubt everything.

“I also came here to look for my wife.”

He came to Meereen to look for her. And he didn’t just say her name. He still referred to her as _his wife_.

She began thinking that maybe he simply regretted leaving her behind like that and wanted a second chance.

“Because we were traveling together to come here. And then she…But we were _separated_. I had hoped that she might have continued the journey here.”

So he hadn’t left her by choice.

But it still hurt. That he wasn’t there when she woke up. That he had missed on Abigayle’s first four months.

And now she was angry. At him. At herself. At Varys. At whole damned world for not allowing them to have just _one moment_ of peace.

When Daenerys called her forward out of the shadows to speak on what to do with Ser Jorah, Sansa couldn’t bring herself to look at him. Because she wasn’t sure what exactly she might do and right now, she had her duty as Hand to the Queen.

She was able to keep a calm façade as she began to advise Daenerys what to do with Ser Jorah.

Then Tyrion said her name and all coherent thought left her mind.

Sansa wasn’t sure how she managed to continue with what she was telling Daenerys. Until finally, she came to the conclusion that Ser Jorah should not be killed and instead, sent away from the city never to return.

Daenerys followed through with what Sansa advised and told the guards to take Tyrion to the atrium. That Sansa would meet him there when she was done.

Sansa followed after Daenerys with Missandei joining them. She felt her heart pounding and couldn’t bring herself to focus.

Tyrion was here. He hadn’t abandoned her. He had actually come looking for her!

But she still couldn’t process the two different expressions she had seen on his face. The one of utter relief and _joy_ he had just moments ago when he saw her. And the one of horror at seeing their daughter.

Sansa didn’t realize she was sitting until Daenerys had passed her a cup of wine. “Drink,” Daenerys said, keeping her voice gentle, but still with the hint of an order.

Sansa lifted the cup to her lips and took a long sip. She set down the cup, closed her eyes, and breathed deeply.

Tyrion was here.

“Shall I bring more wine?” Missandei asked, looking at both Daenerys and Sansa with concern.

Daenerys shook her head, swallowing down her own wine. Instead, she poured another cup and offered it to Missandei. She took a seat across from Sansa and eyed the wine suspiciously.

Sansa cleared her throat. Daenerys said there were still matters to take care of. And after that, she could go see Tyrion in the atrium.

She wasn’t even sure what she would even say to him.

“Your Grace, what other matters were there that we needed to discuss?”

But Daenerys shook her head. “No, there’s nothing left to discuss. I thought that you needed a moment just as much as I did.”

Sansa looked at Daenerys. The young queen stared straight ahead, her eyes distant and hard. She knew the betrayal from Ser Jorah was difficult for Daenerys to come to terms with.

Looking at her now though, away from Ser Jorah and the rest of the guards and people, Sansa thought that perhaps sending Ser Jorah away pained her as much as it pained Sansa to see Tyrion again.

She took another sip of wine. What did it say about Sansa and Daenerys that they could still be so affected by these men and their actions?

“You can change your mind.”

Sansa looked up at Daenerys’ words. “What?”

“Your decision to let Tyrion stay. It is still your decision and you can change your answer.”

Sansa pursed her lips. “I don’t think he meant to leave me…”

“And I don’t think Jorah meant to betray me,” Daenerys said darkly.

“If I may, I would think it would be beneficial if you still spoke to him first. Hear what he might have to say,” Missandei said, offering Sansa a comforting smile.

Sansa nodded in agreement. And with one swift movement, she finished the rest of her wine. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in delaying the conversation any longer.”

She stood and gave a small curtsy. Daenerys barely acknowledged her, already lost in her own thoughts. As she left the room, she could see Missandei reach out and give Daenerys’ hand an encouraging squeeze.

She walked down the long hallways towards the atrium, and pretended she could feel her mother’s hand in hers, providing her with the strength Sansa didn’t think she had.

* * *

It felt as if he had been waiting for hours. Tyrion tried asking the guard standing in front of the door if he could possibly send Sansa a message, saying that he could explain everything and he was just so thankful she was alive and was sorry for the way things happened and that it was never his intention to leave her like that.

But the guard remained impassive and Tyrion knew it would be no use.

So he did the only thing he could do.

Paced and practiced his explanation.

“I’m glad you advised Daenerys to banish Jorah. Terrible, horrible man. It’s his fault I was taken away from you. No…no, he’s not all that terrible I suppose. Um, it was a complicated situation. Once I realized Jorah was going to Meereen, I stopped trying to escape. That’s not to say I didn’t try escaping when he first took me. Of course I did, I just…mmm, no, that won’t work either…”

Tyrion paused in his pacing and looked at the guard. “You wouldn’t mind giving your opinion, would you? What do you think is the best way for me to approach this?”

The guard didn’t even look at Tyrion.

"Complete silence? Oh yes, I'm sure that would go over _very well_ with the Lady Stark." Tyrion gave a small harrumph and continued pacing.

His mind was running with hundreds of different thoughts at once. How long had she been here? Did she come alone? Where was their daughter? Was she all right? How did Sansa become the Queen’s Hand?

Had she missed him?

He wasn’t sure if he wanted an answer to that last question. Because if he were to judge her current feelings towards him based on her behavior in the throne room…things weren’t looking good for him.

But he just had to explain what happened. Surely once he did, she would understand and perhaps they could finally settle into some kind normalcy.

Of course, there was one thought he had that he didn’t want to give too much attention to at the moment.

If Sansa was Hand to the Queen, what was he supposed to do now? That was his whole purpose of coming here to Meereen. He didn’t doubt that Sansa was doing a good job of course, given her suggestion to Daenerys of what to do about Jorah. She had grown so much since arriving at King’s Landing as that young girl with stars in her eyes and the belief that people were generally good.

But that still left the question of what was he supposed to do now?

The door opened, bringing Tyrion swiftly out of his thoughts.

Sansa stood in the doorway. She hadn’t looked at him yet, giving a small nod to the guard who gave her a salute before exiting the room, leaving the two of them alone.

Tyrion swallowed hard as Sansa stood just a few feet before him. He saw how she held her hands tightly in front of her, her fingers becoming even more pale with the pressure she was putting on them. She didn’t look at him. Instead, she kept her focus on the space the guard had just vacated.

“Hello Sansa,” Tyrion breathed out, unsure of what else he could say.

Finally Sansa’s eyes were on him. And now that they were alone and just steps away from each other, Tyrion could finally see all the emotion she tried to hide behind her mask.

There was still anger there. But now it was mixed with confusion and relief and…

Was that a hint of longing he saw in her eyes?

“I thought you left me.” She spoke as she did in the throne room when she was speaking as Daenerys’ hand. Boldly and devoid of emotion.

At least, he was sure that’s what she had been aiming for, but Tyrion picked up a tiny tremble in her words.

He took a step forward, reaching his hand out to her.

She took a step back.

Tyrion paused. “No. That was not by choice.”

Sansa pursed her lips. “I thought you left me,” she repeated. And now, her eyes were turning red as she held back tears. “I thought you left me because when you saw her, you…” She inhaled sharply, almost choking on a sob she tried to hold back. She continued wringing her hands together, her movements become rough that Tyrion was actually concerned she might peel off a layer of skin.

Again, he took a step forward. She didn’t move this time.

But then something in her mind clicked and the anger was at the forefront again within the blink of eye.

“You were _horrified_ when you saw her.” Sansa’s voice trembled again. This time though it was from rage she didn’t even attempt to conceal.

Now she was taking steps towards him, but it didn’t seem to be with good intentions. Tyrion found himself backing away from her, his hands up as he attempted to explain, but she continued talking.

“Out of all the people to understand, I expected you to have more compassion. That you would love her no matter what. But you’re just like all those other people at court in King’s Landing!”

“Sansa, if you’d listen-“

“What happened then? You saw her and decided you wanted nothing to do with her? Even though it’s obviously your Lannister blood that made her the way she is! She has your blood yet you still looked at her with disgust and-!”

“Enough!” Tyrion finally yelled back.

It was the first time ever he had yelled at Sansa. And they both seemed to realize this at the same time because the room fell completely still.

Sansa took two steps back, her jaw clenching as she looked at Tyrion with cold eyes.

Oh, he was about to lose her forever if he didn’t speak soon.

And he was right. Because she turned away and was marching towards the door.

“I saw her entire life when she was born,” Tyrion called out just as she placed her hand on the door to push it open.

Sansa paused, but didn’t turn to look at him.

Tyrion took it as a sign that he could continue. “I'm sorry for yelling just now, but it's just...everything that I went through as a child, I saw her living through the same exact things. Except she doesn’t have an older brother who can protect her from the worst and she’s a girl. As soon as I saw her, I understood exactly how hard her life was going to be. Gods, Sansa, I wasn’t horrified _by_ her. She’s the most beautiful child I’ve ever seen and she looked _exactly_ like you and…” Tyrion swallowed hard, wondering where that lump in his throat had come from. “I was horrified _for_ her. For the life I know that awaits her. Her bones will constantly hurt. She’ll be far behind the rest of the children in developing and will never be able to run or play like a normal child. But people’s words will be the hardest thing she will have to learn to deal with.”

Sansa clenched her jaw. “I might not be able to stop all of those things from happening, but I will protect her from the cruelness of others. She will not have to deal with their taunts. Not while I still draw breath.” Sansa had turned and was now facing him, her back pressed against the door and a wide breadth of space between.

And Tyrion actually smiled. If it were any other person, he wouldn’t believe that possible. But Sansa was a wolf, protecting her pup.

Or perhaps Sansa saw their child as a lion cub.

“I see that now,” he said softly. “With you as her mother, I see that clearly.”  
  
He wanted to reach out and grab her hand or even hug her, but...  
  
It didn't seem like she was ready for that yet.  
  
So he stayed still, right where he stood, not closing the distance she had set.

Sansa let out a breath. She looked down at her hands. “Her name’s Abigayle.”

Tyrion’s smile grew and he let out a breathless laugh. “Abigayle,” he repeated the name and his heart felt as if it might burst. “Abigayle…it’s…it’s beautiful, it’s…it’s a fitting name.”

She looked back up again. “Is it?”

Tyrion nodded, the smile still plastered on his face. He never thought his heart could ever be this full of this specific joy. The joy of a father.

He swallowed hard. “May I…may I see her?”

Sansa didn’t answer right away. For a moment, Tyrion thought it was because she was still angry. “She’s asleep right now actually. I don’t know if you’d want to wait for her to wake up or-“

“I really don’t care. I just would _really_ like to see her.”

* * *

As they walked down the halls to her room, Tyrion explained what happened, how Jorah had taken him and then they were taken by slave traders and all the things that caused them to fall so far behind.

Sansa realized that he was rambling, obviously uncomfortable with the silence.

She felt uncomfortable with his constant talking though, even if she did prefer it over the silence.  
  
But maybe she could handle the silence if she reached out to grab his hand. 

She almost did grab his hand. Because after all this time, he was finally here. Finally back. And…it hadn’t been what Sansa had expected. Tyrion had his reasons. Reasons that Sansa understood now.

But could things go back to the way they were before? Before they had been accused of Joffrey’s death?

Sansa didn’t think so, but maybe they could move forward with something different. Something maybe even better.  
  
That was the thought that kept her from reaching out.

In the back of her mind though, Sansa wondered what Tyrion would do now. Because she was sure when they escaped King’s Landing, Varys always had the plan for Tyrion to become Daenerys’ hand. But now she was the Hand. What would that leave Tyrion to do?

And for a moment, she thought of everything he used to do before he had any kind of real responsibilities. That first time she saw him at Winterfell. All he did was whore around and drink.

Years had passed though and this was a different Tyrion, but still. Sansa wondered what would he do now.

The thought rested in the back of her mind though as soon as they entered her room.

Abigayle was still asleep when they came in.

Tyrion finally stopped talking, standing over Abigayle’s crib.

Sansa held her breath, waiting for any sign of a negative emotion flash over Tyrion’s face.

She could see a tiny bit of worry in his eyes, but for the most part, he looked absolutely enamored with Abigayle.

He smiled, still staring down at Abigayle, and breathed out, “She’s grown so much.”

“She’s nearly five months,” Sansa said in response, keeping her voice soft so as to not wake her up.

Tyrion’s smile only grew. “She’s…she’s amazing, Sansa.” He looked up at Sansa. “The most remarkable child that came from a medical experiment.”

Sansa couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled up. Gods, they had come _so far_.

Then Abigayle began squirming a little under her blankets, let out a few grunts before opening her eyes.

She blinked a few times, her eyes moving around the room, before focusing on Tyrion and just staring at him.

Tyrion let out a breath and stared right back.

Sansa watched them, the two of them just staring at each other.

Abigayle then stretched her arms up in an attempt to grab Tyrion.

She saw how his eyes filtered over to her small arms, but then he focused back on her curious eyes.

Sansa reached down and picked her up. Abigayle immediately reached out and tangled her hand in Sansa’s hair. She smiled at Abigayle, then looked up at Tyrion.

He had an odd look on his face as he stared at both her and Abigayle. It reminded her of her father actually. A look she had seen when she was so much younger and hadn't ventured outside of Winterfell, with all of her siblings alive and sitting around the table eating their dinner.

It was a look of perfect contentment mixed with…

Sansa swallowed hard, unsure if she wanted to know what it was mixed with.

“Would you like to hold her?”

Tyrion blinked, brought out of whatever reverie he was in. “Me?”

“You are the only other person in this room I could possibly be speaking to.”

“I…well, I don’t think…”

Sansa didn’t wait for him to finish spluttering out some excuse. She easily transferred Abigayle into Tyrion’s arms.

It seemed to come as second-nature to him, cradling Abigayle in her arms.

Besides, this wasn’t the first time he had held her.

But it was the first time he held her without any kind of pressing emergency.

Tyrion exhaled and smiled, rocking her gently. “Hello Abigayle,” he whispered. “I’m…” he swallowed hard, whatever words he was about to say getting stuck in his throat.

Then he adjusted Abigayle in his arms, almost in a sitting position, but he was still careful to make sure her head was being supported. He smiled, glancing at Sansa, then back to Abigayle. “Thank the gods she looks just like you.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Abigayle opened her and spit up, with it getting on both her and Tyrion.

Both of their noses scrunched up in the exact same way at the same time.

And Sansa laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That wasn't a cliffhanger, right?? 😂😂


End file.
